UPDATE: Wow, looking back at this first chapter, I realize how extremely boring it is, not to mention the awkward writing style. Hmmm... I guess I won't be offended if you skip over it, but it does have slightly important background info, so. Just so you know, both my writing and the story improved a lot, so I guess that's good. :D
I am about to lose my mind from watching a clock- but then again, it won't exactly be the first time.
I boredly watch the clock above the whiteboard, its long red hand slowly shifting from one second to the next. I begin to drum my fingers on the tip of my desk, but immediately earn a harsh glare from a guy to my right. Okay then.
Around me, my classmates cough, clear their throats, and flip their math test sheets over again and again, hoping to find the questions easier once reread for the tenth time.
I sigh, shake my head, and root around in my totebag for my Spanish textbook. I've already finished the test with fifteen minutes to spare. When I got up out of my seat to give my test to the teacher- after checking my work thoroughly- she didn't even look up from her computer and simply told me I could do whatever I wanted for the rest of the period.
Sometimes I get the feeling that my teacher hates me; that everyone hates me. And then sometimes I know that they do.
I know why they do too. It makes perfect sense. I never saw myself in this position before- an awkward, shy, math-obsessed junior taking college-level classes. And yet, here I am.
The teacher announces that the test is over loudly, startling me and making drop my pencil. It skitters across the floor and I hurriedly chase after it, awkwardly bumping into people and making them give me dirty looks.
I finally retrieve my pencil and stand up quickly, dusting myself off. I need to hurry and collect my books so I can catch the bus that drives to my high school. I have missed the bus several times so far this year.
As soon as I turn around, a guy with thick glasses and short brown hair crashes into me. His coffee cup slips from his hand and tumbles to the floor, spilling coffee everywhere. I wince, glancing longingly at the door, but decide to help clean up the mess. We clean the floor together in silence.
The guy with the thick glasses doesn't thank me once we are done, and, instead, quickly bolts out the door. I gather my books, but know that I'm too late as I rush through hallways and down stairs. Just as I make it outside, I see the bus pulling away. I groan, shove my dirty totebag off my shoulder, and dig around inside for my phone.
My sister picks up after several rings. "Cela, I'm in school! What is it?" she whispers, annoyed.
"I missed the bus again." I admit.
She groans. "You are so lucky that this is your last period. Look, I'll come and get you in my car after I pack my stuff up at the lockers." I sigh inwardly. To my sister, "packing up stuff at the lockers" translates to "gossiping with my friends for at least half-an-hour".
"Thanks, Brooke." I say.
I hear Brooke talking with her friends for a moment before she leans in closer to the phone and says, "I gotta go, Cela. Bye."
I am about to say goodbye back when the phone beeps. She hung up.
I wordlessly toss my iPhone into my totebag and lean back on one of the brick columns that surround the front entrance of the school. About forty minutes later, my sister's car races toward me. I run alongside the curb as the car slows down.
"Hey, Cela!" Brooke says cheerfully as I slip inside. The car smells of sugar alcohols and mint. "Want some gum?"
She holds up a Trident spearmint pack, but I shake my head.
"So," Brook starts as the car begins to move again, "do you want to go straight home, or stop off at somewhere to study?"
"Let's stop off at Starbucks. I seriously need to study for my AP World History test," I reply.
"So be it," Brooke says teasingly as we exit the college campus. "I probably need to study too. Next year, I'll be surrounded by total nerds, and, as you can see, I'm only fifty percent nerd at the moment."
I roll my eyes, but can't help smiling a little. I'm still so proud of her. When Brooke got accepted into Harvard, my dad and I were ecstatic, but not surprised. Brooke had written a killer essay, won several writing competitions, starred in the high school musical, and planned to major in English. While my Ivy League aspirations were still dreams, hers were a reality.
When we get to Starbucks, Brooke and I gather our books and study materials and walk inside. I instantly see a group of seniors in the corner that wave at Brooke and motion for her to come over. Brooke walks over to them and starts talking excitedly.
I put my books down on a table and order a decaf latte at the counter. Brooke joins me a few minutes later. I raise my eye at her, and she shrugs guiltily. "They were part of the musical."
I shake my head and turn back to my history textbook. My teacher has mercilessly assigned the class several pages of reading and informed us of a test in two days. I get so focused on studying that I don't even realize time passing until Brooke and I step outside.
Brooke and I have a heated debate about favorite books on the way home. Brooke is in love with classics like Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen while I lean more towards action and adventure stories, with little to no romance. We finally agree that the Lord of the Rings trilogy is clearly one of the best series we have ever read. Brooke loves the passion the adventure brings out of the characters and the romance between Aragorn and Arwen, while I love the action, twisting plot, and the detailed world that Tolkien created. Both of us have seen all of the movies and read all of the books. We even know how to speak Elvish, though not fluently.
Brooke parks the car in our driveway, and we get out of the car, still talking animatedly, in both English and Elvish. I'm surprised at how much of the Elvish language we have managed to retain, even after not speaking it for quite a long time.
As we walk up the path that leads to our front door, I suddenly feel uneasy. I slowly stop walking and put a hand to my forehead. Brooke notices that I look sick and asks me what is wrong.
"It's nothing, it's just that- Dad didn't tell us where he'd be today. Do you think he's at home?" I say lamely.
Brooke eyes me suspiciously. "Dad is on… vacation, remember?"
I immediately remember and curse myself for being so stupid. "Never mind. I don't know what I was thinking." I give a nervous laugh.
Brooke raises an eyebrow at me, but continues up the steps that lead to the front door. My brain is hurriedly trying to think up reasons why she shouldn't open the door, and finding none. After a moment, I dismiss my feelings of misgiving. After all, logic has never failed me.
Still, I can't help feeling a bit worried as Brooke fumbles around in her backpack, takes out her key and inserts it in the door. As soon as she starts turning the key, she lets out a scream and hurriedly backs away from the door, almost falling down the steps.
The door is glowing.