Now before anyone who happened to read this story previously (not many of you) see this and end up being like "wasn't this story already written?" I just want to say that this is a rewrite. Because I reread this and was like "I really hope I still don't write like this," So I'm changing things up a bit and rewriting.
I do not own Shugo Chara. The writing is mine. Amu may be a little out of character, but in my defense she's in high school now and shouldn't be acting like a nine year old girl. She may be slightly more violent. She's working on it.
OooOooO
By the time fifth hour rolled along, Hinamori Amu was ready to beat someone - anyone - senseless. Preferably the teacher who had wronged her (well, maybe not wronged, but he had it in for her, she was certain), her younger sister in middle school, and her peers who always managed to tick her off at least once a day.
She wasn't a violent person, really, despite popular belief. Sure, she had punched Danny Millson in the face, but that was freshman year. And besides, if it wasn't her than someone else would have. The jerk had it coming.
No, these days she refrained from punching people. These days she vented on a piece of paper.
OooOooO
I knew today was going to be bad when I woke up and couldn't find the toaster. How do you lose a toaster? I've been at a loss for an explanation on that subject myself. It's a fairly large, plastic, bread burning machine and there should be absolutely no reason for it not to be in our kitchen.
It's not like someone moved it. I searched the entire kitchen, all of our outlets, and still it was gone. Could someone have stolen it? That seems rather ridiculous and absurd, but it's possible. All I can say to that is, if you need a toaster THAT BAD then you can have it. Keep it. It's apparently very important to you.
Next came Ami. As usual she slept past her alarm clock. As usual she scrambled to get ready. As usual she expected me to wait on her, put on hold everything that was best for me, and focus with my undivided attention on Ami.
"Ami," I said, "Get in the car."
"Hold on, hold on just one second okay? I have to find my flats with the flowers on them because they go best with this outfit."
"Wear something else. We're going to be late."
Ami ignored my comment and continued to frantically search under the bed. "Found one!" she yelled as she held her single flat in the air, triumph written all over her face.
"Great. Now find the other one."
"You could help, you know."
"It's not my problem." I glanced at the clock. It was definitely time to go. If we took much longer I would miss the first couple minutes of my first hour. I was without a doubt already going to be late for the bell.
I grabbed Ami and dragged her across her room and towards the door. She was giving shrieks that would wake the dead, and more importantly, Mom, who still slept soundly and peacefully.
"I need shoes! I can't go without shoes!"
"Wear these," I chucked a pair that were sitting near my doorway at her.
"These are gardening boots," Ami hissed, looking down at them in horror. It's not like they were ugly, they were just a little dirty.
"Wear these or wear nothing."
She obeyed. Not that it mattered, because I was, of course, late for school. This being my third tardy I received a detention. By the office lady, who as a rule, refuses to smile or give any words of encouragement to students.
I'm not exactly sure what her deal is, but for as long as I've been going to school here (which would be three years) she's always been grumpy. If you have to see the counselor or the school nurse, you have to get through her. She always manages to shoot you a look like you're being a huge imposition, when all you were asking for is a pass to see the nurse because you just got done throwing up your lungs.
I then learned of a pop quiz in my Trig class. I was unprepared. There is nothing more to say on that subject.
By the time lunch rolled around I was in a mood. But understandably so, right? Right. My friend (who is always in a bad mood) joined my in our cloud of doom and gloom. She picked at her breaded "chicken" patty, unhappily stabbed at her canned fruit and crunched mournfully at her granola bar.
She was the picture of depression.
Before Amu could continue on with her writing the bell rang. She stared at the glowing red numbers on the clock a moment, packed up her stuff and left.
It was, as she had said, one of those days. Such a day, would of course entail leaving behind her notebook in class.
OooOooO
That was just the prologue. Later chapters will be longer. Please leave a review!