The sun boiled down on my head as I perched on one of the benches in the school courtyard, waiting for my mother to pick me up. It looked as if she wouldn't be here for a while. Mom has a tendency of working overtime, but I guess it's the only way she can support the both of us. Today happened to be the last day of school, yet nothing seemed too attention drawing, almost as if it was just a regular day. Girls giggling and gossiping, boys playing some rowdy sport or just kicking a ball around, while others where just leaning against the wall listening to their I-pods. As time passed, more and more of my classmates said their goodbyes and exchange hugs before leaving for home. By the time my mom arrived the school was almost empty.
"I'm so sorry Ally, I tried to leave early today but this has just been such a busy week and-" when my mom hugged me I thought she would squeeze the life out of me.
"Yes, I know mom," I interrupted, as if that speech hadn't been heard before, I didn't blame her but I did wish she came sooner. It always feels awkward when I have to sit there by myself; I'm not much for small talk, or self-confidence, to approach those other girls. Plus I doubt that we would have anything in common anyways. But I'm not a complete loner; I did have a couple friends back in my old school before we moved.
Ever since my dad left, mom and I are getting deeper in dept. We had to sell our beautiful Victorian home and move to the city to start a new life. My mother is a salesclerk and I work part time at a cozy little bookstore with my aunt, Ellouise. There's nothing I enjoy more than curling up with a good book and a cup of tea on a quite evening. You could say I spend a great deal of time at "Twice Told Tales", even though we don't have many customers. We mostly sell antique collectors books and records, so it's not surprising that business is a little slow at best.
Now if you're wondering what happened to my father, then that makes two of us. Fred Irah used to write mystery novels, so it's quite ironic that his disappearance is also a mystery. One day when mother and I came home he was just gone, with all of his belongings but an old lighter. My father wasn't too fond of the outdoors; he hardly ever went out, or left his study as a matter of fact. We doubted that he took an unexpected road trip. Mom and I waited a few days for him to return until we called the police to report the case. It's been four years now and still not a single lead or trace of evidence.
While he was around we never really talked much, or saw each other. He didn't want to be bothered when he was writing (which was always) so he asked that my mother and I left him alone, but curiosity got the better of me so one day, while he was sleeping, I sneaked into his study to take a quick look at what he was writing. The room was anything but tidy, papers were scattered all over the floor and the table was cluttered with all sorts of things, including an old typewriter and some fancy quill pens. I couldn't help but read his latest manuscript, or whatever else was on that beautifully engraved mahogany table.
The first thing I noticed was an inky sketch of a locket, or a pendant of some sort. At the top left corner of the paper was a strange symbol that looked much like an upside-down "Y" and the letters "E, I, T, C". But before I could examine the paper some more I noticed my dad was waking up so a quietly slipped out the door, leaving everything in its place. I spent a couple days pondering on what those letters stood for, and a couple weeks researching. In the end I arrived at nothing, maybe they were just made-up by my father for some new novel. I could have simply asked, but then he would know I was in his room without permission.
After a long drive we finally arrived at our less than shabby old apartment on the outskirts of the town. When we first moved in I detested the horrid place; it was noisy, smelly, and dirty; and that's just the hallway! The drains always leaked, and so did the roof whenever it rained; the soiled wallpaper was coming off revealing rows of rotting planks of hardwood; and there's not much I could say about the lighting, because there wasn't any! Thankfully, mother and I used what was left of our savings to fix the place up to a livable condition.
As the years went by the dwelling felt more like home, especially after I met my neighbor, Laura. She wore black curly hair that was always tied into a tight bun and a pale orange dress that went nicely with her tan brown skin. She was about my height even though I was two years older, me being sixteen. We were both interested in about the same things so we always had a lot to talk about, sometimes I feel as if she makes herself like something just because I do, but I don't mind one bit. Laura also has a wild imagination and is quite a talented artist; we even started writing a book together. I'm really glad that we went to the same school, too bad she couldn't come today because she had to attend an aunt's wedding.
"Ally! Dinner!" my mother hollered.
"The usual?" I asked.
"Macaroni and cheese, your favorite!" Mom began to put out the plates and cutlery. I am absolutely sick of macaroni and cheese, but I don't have much of a choice since we can't afford to eat out and my mom isn't much of a cook. We ate solemnly, today I felt less talkative than usual.
"How was your day sweetie, did you have fun?" Mom asked.
"Yeah, tons of fun," I mumbled, if there was anything I hated more than macaroni and cheese it would be when my mother calls me "sweetie" or "honey" or any other annoying pet names. Not to mention it was clear to see that I did not have a good day, but I guess she was just making conversation; as I said before I hate small-talk. Parents could be so irritating at times, which is why I really valued my alone time.
"I almost forgot! Tomorrow you'll be leaving to grandma's for the month, I know how much you like it there," said Mom as she scraped the leftovers onto a plate. She was right, I did enjoy visiting my grandmother, she always had stories to share, old trinkets to show me, and places to take me to in the bewildering forest, which was a short walk form her house. I remember how we used to collect mushrooms and berries together when I was a little girl, we would talk the whole way there and back. Grandma was probably one of the few people that really understood me.
