The boy slowly lowered down to my eye level and blew unbearably sweet breath into my face. If only I could see the hazy face of my prince charming. "Angel…" he whispered "Angel, Angel, Angel…" he closed his sandalwood eyes and leaned forward—
BEEP…BEEP…BEEP…BEEP…BEEPDang. Another night over. Another dream cut short. Another wish unfulfilled. What is up with this darn clock and timing? Oh right. IT'S A CLOCK.
The pillow I had slapped over my head in the middle of the night did nothing to soothe the nerve-wracking alarm my mother had set. I glanced at the clock from what little space I had underneath the pillow. Greeeaaat. Looks like she set it early…AGAIN. Man, what doesn't that woman understand about teenagers and sleep. The more sleep they get, the happier they are. Soo simple. I just wish for a little time and I get nada in return. Ugh, I feel like screaming at the clock, 'I'M AWAKE OKAY!?!' But it looks like…Oooh goodie. IT is awake too.
"AAANGEEELLL!!!! It's the first day of school. Don't wanna be late! Get up, get up, get up, get up." The next thing I knew, I was being pelted with beanie babies. Man, those things hurt like crazy.
I waved my arm at the intruder and the pelting stopped.
"Alright, alright I'm awake. No more throwing." My voice is muffled by the pillow but who cares. The less they hear me, the better. At least that's what my parents think.
I lift my head and peer at IT. IT is wearing pajamas and has a pile of beanie babies at IT's feet and is sucking IT's thumb.
"Don't you have to get ready for school too? And why are you sucking you're thumb, you're too old for that." If you consider 5 old. IT makes a face and yells "NO I'M NOT!!" and finally leaves my only sanctuary, slamming the door behind IT.
Now that I can't get back to sleep (thanks to IT, otherwise known as Mickey) all I have left to do is procrastinate until someone yells at me to get ready. Of course, I would yell back but still get ready anyway. Only I know exactly how long it takes for me to get dressed; and I don't eat breakfast much so what's the rush?
I stare at the Twilight poster above my bed for a while and think. 'Why was his face obscured? Why could I only see his eyes? What would be like if he was real? What if he is real? What if—'
My thinking is interrupted by my dad screaming at me to get my butt up or else. Hmmm yea. What's the worst he can really do, ground me? Ban me from the computer or phone? It's not like I have a real social life so he can forget that. He can't control me, and neither can my mother. I constantly remind myself of that basic fact every day.
"Shut your trap, I'm getting up." I yell back. The door rattles with his angry reply but its survived worse so no worry there. I look at the clock again. Whoa. Looks like I was thinking longer than I thought.
I calmly stretch, making sure to take my time, and get up from my mess of a bed. I stand and observe the damage. Covers strewn everywhere, posters falling down, drawers open wherever, drawings in a neat pile while my magazines are who-knows-where. Perfect; just the way it should be.
Mom never comes in to clean. I don't know why. She's probably afraid of finding something she doesn't want to find. I would assure her that would never happen, but then she might have the guts to come in here. Wouldn't want that, now would we?
I pick a clean pair of jeans and a tight black shirt off of the small leather couch by the wall. My usual ensemble. The couch is my own small tribute to what could be, should be. Long, black, and leather; just like Edward's.
I throw on my clothes, not worrying about anybody bursting in on me, and grab my worn backpack. Looks like I won't be having breakfast today…again. Its not like I'm one of those anorexic girls who DIE because they're bent on being pretty like those AIRBRUSHED supermodels, I just never have time to eat. Between keeping up my low grades, drawing, and trying to take care of IT, I just have no time for anything else.
I grab my brush on the way out of the house, trying to hurry before the bus leaves and start brushing my hair while I run. It's always straight and never needs much done to it. I almost run into the bus as it starts to pull off. The doors open and the bus driver glares at me. "Sorry" I say, giving him the fakest smile I could muster with a small snarl at the end. He closes the door. "Whatever"
I stand in the aisle looking for an empty seat. Whaddayaknow, it's Amy…again. She's bouncing up and down, waving me down and pointing to the empty spot next to her.
That girl needs some real friends, because if she seriously likes me, then that just PROVES she's as pathetic as she looks. But, seeing as how there are suddenly NO seats left, I make my way towards her.
She's already started to babble and I haven't even sat down yet. By the beginning of my day, I can tell I am SO gonna have a migraine soon. How can anybody be this cheerful THIS early??
I let her talk to herself on the way to school and as soon as the bus stops, I'm already halfway down the aisle.
"Wait up Angel!" I hear her scream over the loudness of the school kids. That just makes me walk faster.
I finally lose her on the way to my locker. I now have that migraine I knew I was gonna have. Oh yea, I'm PSYCHIC.
I open my locker and the first thing I see is a huge hairy spider. I don't even pretend to scream because I can tell that it's plastic from the way it just sat there. I recognize it from last year's freshmen prank. Every freshman had a giant spider in their locker and you could hear the screaming all the way from Washington. The president was probably wondering what all the noise was.
I push the spider aside and gather my books and my courage. It's gonna be one heck of a school year and I needed to do well or risk repeating the 11th grade. I morbidly turn around and almost crash into HIM.
HIM, is Randy; The most popular, best looking, and richest boy in the entire school. Take one whiff of him and you get dazed by the overwhelming smell of fresh cash.
"Hey sorry, I didn't see you." Of course you didn't. "Oh hi Angie, I see you're back this year" What, expect me to flunk? "I'll see you in class." Wait, what? Oh, I'm still thinking.
"Wait, what?" I finally said. He turned around and flashed his million-dollar smile. "PSP math was too hard for me so I got switched to mainstream. I'm in your class now." Oh goodie. "See ya." He turned and walked back down the hall. "It's Angel!" I yell after him, like a moron. Great, now I'm stuck in the same class as the rich kid. Man, I just hope we don't get paired up as project partners. That would be total torture.
SCREEEEECHHThat annoying bell is going to DIE someday, and when it does, the world will CELEBRATE.
A fresh scowl on my face from my ever-growing migraine, I slunked down the hall, avoiding any familiar faces. I ended up being late to class, but who expected any better from the future drop-out?
Our teacher, Mr. Wayne, is probably the best teacher I could have. He doesn't give out detentions (like I need any this early in the year), and he never pays attention to the class. There could be a lightning storm in the classroom and he'd be reading the funnies in the local paper.
Seeing a seat in the back, I quickly snagged it before one of the other kids noticed me. I whipped out my sketchbook and scribbled down whatever came to mind.
Drawing is probably the only thing that helps with my miserable life. It's the only outlet for me, the unathletic, untalented nobody. Yea, so what, my drawings are OK. But no one ever notices what I do, and I like it that way.
"Hey baby, watcha got there?" My sketchbook slid from beneath my hands as a slick voice dripping with sarcasm rang through my head. No, not him. Anyone but him. I would rather SNOG Randy twelve times *shiver* than have to go through that again.
"Looks like we got ourselves a depressed goth, guys. What should we do with her; tear up her little notebook, or show her some looove?"
I was staring at my hands, trying to control my building temper.
"Waddya say ANGIE? Want some looove?" kids snickered all around. Of course Mr. Wayne had no idea this was going on. It's only me, why would he care?
"I SAID…want some looove ANGIE?" I glanced up at him, clenching my teeth, preparing myself for the worst. He was turned to his friends, laughing and holding my sketchbook between his index finger and thumb.
Using the jujitsu I taught myself, I swiftly snatched my book, careful not to damage it, and pressed my fingers to four of his pressure points, immobilizing him.
His face was frozen in the playful sneer he was using. Only his eyes showed his distress (and the fact that he couldn't move an inch.) I snickered.
"Sure CHRISSY, I'll take some looove." And I stood, pecking him on the cheek, and walked out of the classroom with every pair of astounded eyes following me on the way out.
What a way to start the year.
