Remember Amber, the waitress in Port Angeles? There might be more to her than serving dinner. What if she has a huge secret? Who really is this woman? What is her true identity? Is she just a waitress? What's her life really like? A story linking Twilight and Harry Potter into one.
The Story of an American Teenage Witch
Epilogue
Hey, I'm Amber Bradley, and I'm an American teenage witch.
I first found out I was a witch when I turned 13. On November 21st, 2006, I first got a letter written in green ink. It was from a school I'd never heard of. But what school would I get a scholarship from? Did my parents sign me up? But when I opened the envelope, everything changed. Everything. This is my story.
Chapter 1: Birthday Girl
I woke up with my parents, best friend, and siblings surrounding my bed and screaming, in one voice, "Happy Birthday, Amber!" I snatched my glasses from the table next to my bed and put them on my face. I saw Mom and Dad, smiling at me, my best friend, Emma Warrington, grinning down at me, looking as pretty as ever, my older sixteen-year-old brother, Michael, and my adorable four-year-old sister, Dakota. "You're a teenager already!" Mom squealed, squeezing my cheek. Dakota came up to me and held up a white cake with blue words saying Happy Birthday Amber! With the A in Amber all loopy and fancy. "Blow out your candles, Amber!" Dakota said. So I blew them all out. I was about to help myself to some cake with my fingers when Dad said warningly, "Just because it's your birthday, you've still got to dress and brush your teeth before cake," So I jumped out of bed and went to brush my teeth and take a shower like I normally do in the morning. Then, I went back to my room, where Emma was waiting for me. She looks pretty; she has white blonde hair and red streaks in it. She reminds me often of Avril Lavigne. She had hazel eyes, which went well with her hair. She has a supermodel body, and turned thirteen a week before me.
"You've gotta help me find something to wear!" I said. So we skimmed through my wardrobe and searched for a birthday-worthy outfit. I ended up in with a pink Hollister shirt, a cute, jean miniskirt with white leggings underneath and pink low-top converse. Emma did my pure black hair, which was usually sleek and shiny and naturally in elaborately stylish curls and if I do say so myself, quite beautiful, into an elegant knot in the back of my head, but slightly to the side, so you could see part of it. She left a few strands out, on the side of my face, giving it the perfect affect. I wasn't aloud to put on make up until I was thirteen, but Emma, whose mom was a model, always slipped and added makeup at sleepovers or school. Emma wants to be a cosmetician and graduate from beauty school, so she sometimes practices on me. Today, she put makeup to the whole affect. She gave me green eye shadow over my brown eyes and glossy orange lips. She somehow convinced me to wear my contacts, which I hate and threw my glasses carelessly into my closet. She gave me some awesome jewelry like a choker and long necklace. I looked just like a teenager should.
We ran down the stairs and into the dining room and plopped ourselves into chairs and helped ourselves to some cake. Everybody was staring at me, except Emma, who was stuffing her face with cake: she was a total sugar addict and she gets really hyper when she eats too much sugar. Michael was staring at me with unflattering disbelief. "What?" I asked.
"Wow—you look hot!" He said, looking impressed. I laughed. "That sounds reeeeally weird coming from my brother, Mikey." I said, embarrassed but pleased.
"I don't like that makeup. It makes you look like some Hollywood person." Dad said, frowning. "Oh, Greg, let her have some fun. She's thirteen, and having hot makeup will help you get the guys." Mom retorted, a twinkle in her eyes. I felt my face heat up. My mother talking about boys and me was not something I felt comfortable discussing. "That's how you fell for me, remember?" She said. "Yeah, Susan, you were the black-haired beauty—you looked like Snow White." He replied, grinning. My mother is part Filipino, and I inherited her dark hair and eyes. Emma jumped off her seat and ran to the hall to get her lunchbox and shoes. I finished eating my cake and went to get my backpack for school. Mike and Emma imitated me. "Thanks for letting me for breakfast, Mrs. Bradley." Emma said politely. "Oh, you're welcome, dear. You're as welcome in this house as Amber." Mom replied. "You know," Mike said while we tread up the stairs, "Just because you're a teenager now doesn't mean you can date. If any boy as much as touches my little sister, I'll knock the crap out of him." He ruffled my hair as he grabbed all three backpacks and ran down the stairs, us chasing him while he went.