The only thing this story has to do with Ender's Game is that I like the battle school idea and I want to use it. Also, this chapter doesn't have a lot to do with the actual plot, it just tells you about her home life. It's not vital that you read it but it's nice to know some of this for later chapters. Disclaimer: Battle School belongs to Orson Scott Card, other than that everything else is mine, but if I do mention anything that came from his books, I don't own that. Brilliant- Family Life

I wandered down a school hall, waiting for the bell to ring, waiting for all the kids to come rushing out. It gave me a sense of peace to somehow be connected with all of the kids here. It made me feel calmer somehow, not always wanting to lash out at the slightest tough. Every family has a problem child, the one that has some weird thing going on in their head all the time. My sister is the perfect child, my other sister is the slightly off but still loved one, and my brother is the favorite. I'm the oldest. I'm also the one who's left out, the one my parents don't know how to deal with. They don't know how to say no, but they don't necessarily say yes either. They disagree with my thoughts, my friends, my room, everything I love basically. A couple of years ago they took me to a family therapist, just them and me. The doctor said I had an unusual amount of aggression and hostility in my personality. I smirked; my parents worried their heads off. My parents are supposedly geniuses. My father is a general in the military and my mother works for a top scientific researching center. We all live in Virginia, a place I've come to hate with a passion. Do I sound bitter? Probably, that's years of raised eyebrows yet no solid answers will do to you. The bell rang and kids rushed out of their classrooms. It was a Friday, the weekend. I remember those days. The days before I got kicked out for using too much profanity in my writings. Mrs. Curtis, my English teacher once asked me why I couldn't express myself in another way. I still can't answer that question. My sister, Mary, came out of her classroom, searched the crowd, found me, and then quickly averted her eyes and walked out to stand behind a tree, waiting for me, no doubt ashamed that I had been the one to come to pick her up. Carrie did the same thing, but Ryan called out my name and rushed to me. He's only in Kindergarten, he couldn't possibly know that I was the "bad apple" in the family. Good for me because I'd have to move out of the house if it weren't for him. He had blue eyes when he was a baby, but they've turned to green, like mine. Carrie and Mary have brown eyes. They all have dark brown hair. Except me, naturally. The bad one also looks like no one else in the family. Typical. I have red hair. Mary and Carrie have recently been calling me "The Witch" because of my sulky attitude and appearance. But I'm sure you're tired of hearing about me. So I'll tell you about what happened today.

Coming home is about the biggest problem I have. Trying to keep Carrie and Mary from running off away from me should be an Olympic Sport. No wonder Ryan's the favorite one; he's the only good one. Day after day I come home to the wonderful smell of anti-bacterial hand soap and Lysol, compliments to my mother who hates to cook, but loves to clean. I settle onto the couch and turn on the TV where I scoff at the stupid soap operas and yell out: "Why isn't there anything good on!" Mary and Carrie (Or rather "the 2" from now on, it's easier and they do almost everything together anyway) yell back at me that they're trying to study. They're in third grade. What third grade teacher gives their kids studying for homework? But I keep my mouth shut, together they're quite strong and I don't feel like getting grounded for a week just because I gave one of them and small yellow bruise on their shin. It's better to be quiet and on time if your me in my house. I wouldn't say it's unfair the way they treat me because they pretty much let me do whatever they want. I guess my parent's just don't want me rubbing off on any one of their precious "other children." It's kind of fun really, because I'm the only kid in my family who has a car and I can taunt them. But I'm starting to sound cruel. But isn't that what I am? Or at least my therapist thinks it's usual. I guess I'll never have more time to think about it, because within the next five seconds there was a knock at the door.