A/N - Some people have been asking me if I’ve ever written anything original. The answer to that is yes, a long time ago. (I’ve just recently been writing again since Oct, and I started writing fanfics to get back in the habit of writing, but I do want to write something original.) Be warned I was 16 when I wrote this…it oozes with 16 year old…ness. If anyone actually likes this, I can break it out and work on it.
Chapter One: Katie Vs. the Menopausal Mother
Okay it all takes place in a town called Camarillo, California. It’s where all the rich, white kids live, excluding me, the rich part anyway; I’ve got plenty of white to go around.
I wake up to that annoying buzzing sound of my alarm clock, and of course the first thing I do is hit the snooze button, roll over, and go back to sleep. Then my mom comes in and yells at me to get my lazy butt out of bed because I’m going to make her late for work. And it’s not like she even drives me to school, no she makes me walk all the way there in the freezing cold. But, like most middle-aged women, she does not understand this concept of the word “cold” due to her persistent hot flashes.
Oh God, I’ll be so glad when this whole menopause thing will be over with, then I’ll finally be able to ride in the car in 40 degree weather with the heater on like most people instead of the AC.
My mom pops her head back in. “Why are there bottles of air fresheners in your dresser?”
I look over, and to my horror, I left my personal drawer open. Thank God I didn’t have a nightmare last night. I jump up and close it, which causes her to raise an eyebrow in my direction.
“What? You’re the one always complaining that my room smells.”
“You’re right. Besides to get that stale teenager smell out, you’re going to need a lot more then that; your room still stinks. It’s probably permanently saturated in the walls. I feel terrible for the next person who has to live in here.”
I throw my pillow at her, which in turn, she thankfully gets the picture and leaves.
I drag my butt out of bed… eventually, and crept through my room into the bathroom.
After all that typical morning stuff, I stumble out, wet haired and groggy, over to my closet, while stepping over all of the clothes strewn about the floor, and open it up exhibiting my Goodwill collection of attire.
I comb through them for a split second, and examine my choices, which included: T-shirt and jeans, T-shirt and jeans, and another couple pairs of T-shirts and jeans. I quickly select a pair, it being an easy choice considering everything else currently residing on the floor, threw it on, and began the perilous journey of looking for that missing shoe. And what do you know, it was right where I left it, right under my bed along with a stapler, a Frisbee, three miss-matched socks, and of course hidden food wrappers from all those snuck up snacks from the kitchen.
I get up, drop my black and orange Vans shoe onto the ground and stick my foot in. I stand up and examine my room, making sure I haven’t forgotten anything.
My room looks like the typical teenage room, except it looks more like a guy’s room then anything. There’s a bunch of rock band posters pinned up on the walls, a floor (if you can find it) a computer sitting on a desk, (if you can find it) and a night table (something also to be on the lookout for).
Then there’s the overflowing bookcase next to my twin size bed, which is slightly raised to accommodate a good material hiding possession place. You know, those things you have that you don’t want parents to see? What better place then to hide it under the bed? It’s so obvious, parents would think you’re smarter then that and snoop around somewhere else, when in reality, it’s in that detectable place all along and un-discovered.
I take full advantage of this hiding place whenever possible. Oops, did I say that? I mean,
“Cough”…I have nothing to hide…shifty eyes
Alright, moving on, I finally wobble downstairs with my unfinished math homework from the night before tucked under my arm as to hide it from my mom. You know how moms get with that sort of thing, especially divorced, menopausal moms.
So while she’s in the other room I quickly jot down answers while she isn’t looking. C’mon, it’s algebra, who cares? Obviously she does since she caught me and we are yet again having this conversation. A loud, angry conversation I might add. We’ve had it so many times I think I’ve memorized it.
It usually goes a little something like this:
“Katie not again!” bellows my mom. “We’ve talked about this before!”
I watch nervously from behind my bowl of Lucky Charms as my mom paces the kitchen thinking of something to say.
I quickly begin to space out as she goes into her routine speech about how I need to be more like my brother. No thank-you. Thankfully Alex, my “should be role model” of a brother has already left for work. This gives me a computer talk free morning.
Sadly though, not everything can go my way. There’s now the fact that there is nothing to keep my mother from pestering me all morning. Not even a Hershey bar, which reminds me, I need to go to the store and stock up, because around here a bar of chocolate is like a get out of jail free card for when my mother’s in one of her moods.
I once went into Alex’s room to get a pencil and found a whole stash of them in a drawer. Being that he is male, I could only assume they’re for me and my mom.
When I asked him about it, he said it was to tame the monster of PMS.
“Katie! Are you even listening to me?” God I wish I didn’t eat all of Alex’s stash.
“Yeah mom, I’m sorry” I say in one of those “I’m-so-sorry-I’ll-never-do-it-again” tones.
I attempt to concentrate on something else. If my mom asks why I’m not paying attention, I’ll tell the orange juice told me to concentrate on it instead.
I cautiously get up from the table as I watch her go into the next room to grab her stuff for work.
“Bye mom, I’m going to school.” I say as I grab my ten pound backpack and bolt out the front door before she has a chance to reply.
Yes! Freedom is only a couple blocks away.
I drift off to school trusting my feet to get me there, for my mind was so obviously else where.
Thinking always makes a walk go by faster. Not like I was in a hurry to get to school, but only for the meager time I get to spend with my friends before setting off to prison.
When I arrive I immediately seek out my friend Allison, who is always by her locker that faces the secluded back of the school. This is also what we refer to as “make-out alley” because there is a long secluded stretch of lockers that is more hidden away from the rest of the school, and more preferably from all of the teachers.
Ewe, I know what your thinking you pervert. We don’t go over there to make-out. We only hang out there because it is the only part of the school where we can actually hear each other without screaming.
Another reason being all of the other people around here are too “busy” to care what we are doing. So we get to goof off as much as we want.
Every time I go to meet her there I always try and sneak up to see if I can scare her. I never can.
“Trying to catch me again I see.” said Allison with a sigh as she took out her earphones. “Give it up, Katie, you can never scare me more that that does” she said pointing over her shoulder to a couple swapping tongues and gum."
Okay, I have to admit, not even I could find that attractive.
“Aright, I’ll admit that that one is a little on the nauseating side.” I said as I tried my hardest to keep down my cereal.
“That’s because they all are.”
“If you got a boyfriend who would do that with you, I’m sure you wouldn’t be complaining then.”
She just rolls her eyes at me and says “You disgust me, let’s please just change the subject.” She can be such a pain in the butt sometimes.
“Fine, what do you want to talk about?” I say as I slump to the ground with my half “finished” math homework and a pencil and I occasionally fill in an answer.
“I don’t know.” Al says as she dials in her locker combination. I see her pull something out as she openly gapes at it. She can stand there with her mouth open all she wants, but it got me onto my feet faster then you can say “chocolate”. Which was what it was; a small box of chocolate.
“Whoa, where’d you get those?” I ask eyeing it.
“I don’t know. They were in my locker.” She says, still staring dumbfounded at the heart shaped box in her hand.
“Is there a card or something?” She flips it over to reveal a small sticky note attached on the back.
To: Allison Wallts
From: A Lost Love
I know love can be exhausting, but let me take your breath away.
“What the hell?” I say staring down at the sticky note. "Who writes that on a box of chocolate? I mean, writing I love you more then a fat kid loves cake would be more romantic then THAT.
“I’m just curious who they came from.” Al says as she continues to examine the box and note.
“The more important question right now is: are you going to open it?” I ask, begging her with my eyes.
She ignores my question and continues to mutter to herself, “Isn’t it a little early for valentines, it’s still January.”
“Now isn’t the time to play Nancy Drew, open it already. We’ll figure out where it comes from later.”
“No. You’ll eat them all. Besides, someone might like me.” she says, a smile growing on her face at the thought.
“Great. Now will you please open them? You’re killing me” I beg.
“You’ll live.” She says as she tears the plastic off, opens the lid and throws one in her mouth. “MMM caramel.” she says to tease me.
“What? Are you going to make me beg?”
“It’s so chewy and chocolaty!” she continues. I’ll take that as a yes. I scrunch up my face and stick out my hand.“Don’t give me that look! It’s not going to work.” I scrunch up my face some more and look sad.“Arrgh. Fine.” She says and sticks out the box in my direction. I grab a lumpy one, hoping for nuts and stick it in my mouth.
“I wonder who likes you.” I say through a mouth full of candy.
“I don’t know, if anybody. Maybe it’s that quiet guy that sits across from me in World History; I’ve caught him staring at me a few times, but I’m pretty sure it was the answers on my test instead that interested him.”
“Maybe.” I shrug holding out my hand for another piece. She must be really lost in thought; she actually gave me another one without teasing me or objecting. A rare, beautiful moment which I plan on taking full advantage of.
I toss the whole thing into my mouth and bite down; a bitterness springing into my mouth.
“What’s with the face? You eat coconut or something?”
I swallow it down with difficulty; my first mistake.
“No.” I say scraping my tongue with my finger, making an attempt to get the taste out of my mouth. “I think I got a stale one. Whoever he is, he’s a loser. He doesn’t even have enough class to get you a fresh box. Tasted like it’s been sitting in there since last Valentines Day.”
“Weird. Mine tasted fine.” She says, looking back down at the box. “Wait. You just want me to give you another one so you can “get the taste out of your mouth.” If you thought it was that gross, you wouldn’t have swallowed it.”
“Sounds like something I’d do, but really, it tasted funky.”
“Sure, whatever.” She says as she closes the box and stuffs them back in her locker. She closes her door and then freezes.
“What?” I ask as she furrows her eyebrows.
“How did it get in my locker?” she asks, staring at it.
“I don’t know. Maybe it was from someone who previously had this locker. Ooh. An older guy possibly.” I say. “It’s not like we can trust the school to change the combination.” She seems to lighten up at this.
“Well I got to go.” I say as the bell goes off. “I’ll see you at lunch.” I pick up my back pack, and un-finished math homework and walk over to Biology.
I immediately loose interest as the teacher drones on about ameba. I pull out my cell phone and text Jaclyn as I attempt to hide it in the pocket of my jacket.
“What’s up?” I ask, punching in the digits on the keypad.
“I’m in Econ. You?” she responds.
Stupid me forgot to put it on silent mode, so I’m just sitting there pretending to be interested in the life cycles of bacteria when my cell phone rings and the classroom is filled with the sounds of Skillet. Then there’s the usual spin of heads that follows to see who was stupid enough to text during class and forget to turn off the ringer.
I quickly turn around in my seat and pretend to be looking too. I finally manage to slip my hand in my pocket and turn my cell phone off.
I try not to look embarrassed and focus on the teacher’s lecture about keeping your cell phone turned off during class.
It’s not like anyone listens to that, if you look under all the desks, there is usually a cell phone in half of the kids’ hands, I mean who seriously smiles at their crotch?
My lab partner, an awkwardly skinny boy with sandy hair and freckles, leans over and whispers
“Smooth one” in my ear as I begin to turn a bright shade of pink and sink down lower into the floor, willing for it to open up and swallow me in. But of course, to my displeasure, it doesn’t, so I’m forced to stick around and hope Mr. Lenard, the Biology teacher, doesn’t catch on as to why my face is a brighter shade of pink then his tie. Yes, he wears a pink tie, scary huh?
What happened in BED? (World History, we all call it that because we never can seem to stay awake). I have no idea, like always, I was asleep. The poor Ottoman Empire will have to be defeated without me.
Then of course there’s Algebra. We go through the usual routine, I hand in un-finished homework , get chewed out, turn my cell phone back on, get chewed out some more, get cell phone taken away, then go to sleep.
I know I need to be paying attention to this and all, but I’ve got more important issues to waste thought on. Like, how am I not going to get chewed out by my mom when I get home?
Besides there’s a bigger problem (even bigger than my menopausal mom, or the fact that my biology teacher wears pink) I need to focus on. I’ve been having nightmares. I know that doesn’t seem like a big deal, but lucky for me, it is. The side effects from them are. I’m not going to go any further than that.
Yes! Finally the lunch bell rings. I jump up to leave.
“Katie, can I have a word with you?” I look over to see Mr. Brockson, my math teacher, leaning over his desk with some papers in his hand. “I need your parents to sign these.” He hands me back my recent quizzes that I, of course, failed. “I want them on my desk when class starts tomorrow.”
I want to tell him I won’t be here tomorrow, on the account that my mom is going to kill me.