"Ally!" a voice snaps from the dining hall.
"Coming!" I reply, suppressing a sigh as I pick up a lacy tank top off the floor and ram it into the laundry basket. Quickly, I go down the stairs and look up to see an annoyed Marilyn holding up a purple cocktails. There's a deep plunge at the neck, the fabric soft and velvety. On anyone else, it would look elegant. On my stepmother, not so much.
"What is this?" she asks me expressionlessly.
"A dress…why?"
"Wrong. It's not a dress. It's a damaged dress. A dress that I specifically asked for you to clean for me in a note after we came home from the Williamson's party last Friday. I can't believe you would be so immature as to not clean up this hideous stain on the waist," Marilyn scolds, thrusting the dress into my already full hands. Then, without a word, she stalks past, not sparing me a look as I sputter apologies under my breath. A note? When was that?
Shaking my head, I find the stain, a tiny drop of red wine, hardly noticeable unless you were looking for it.
"Looking for this, Al?" a high pitched voice laughs, throwing a scrunched up sticky note into the laundry basket. Scrawled in ugly block letters are the words: "CLEANED BY WEDS. STAIN ON WAIST – MOM".
"Mona, did you actually have to do that or were you just being a bitch like usual?" I complain, eyeing my step sister in her tight strapless dress, her hair in curls and makeup on the overload.
"How else would I have a little fun with my step-sister? Later, Al," she cheers, exiting through the doors that lead to the 4 car garage. Soon, the sound of the Benz revving up fills my ears and then drifts away into the night.
Welcome to my crappy life.
Or, to be exact, welcome to the crappy life that I was forced into after my Dad started dating Marilyn Wagner, the top real estate agent in Eastern Miami. Pretty soon, she and her two kids, Mona and Max, forced us into moving with them into their million dollar home. It was alright in the beginning when it was just 12 year old Max and Mona wasn't done at her top notch private school in Orlando. Bearable, even, until she came home for summer break and stalked into her (my, at that time) room, shrieking when she saw me on her bed reading a classic.
"Who are YOU?" she spat. And I, being the clumsy awkward girl that I am, choked on my water and only managed to gasp out an "Al!" Hence, my ridiculous nickname. After she started going to Marino High School, it spread around and now all the popular kids call me that.
Well, except for this one guy named Austin Moon.
A/N: Behold! My new idea that has a 99% chance of being a train wreck! Tell me what you think, too cliche, the idea too overused? If you don't like it, then blame my friend Mariana, who gave me the idea for this (more like begged) due to her obsession with A Cinderella Story. If you love it, then the idea was completely mine and Mariana had nothing to do with it :D