A/N: project for school turns into fanfic!! typical, right?

Disclaimer: no "Great Gatsby" characters were stolen...Arabella and her mother are mine tho!!!

Dear Dairy,

Mom says she's got a new job. She tells me it's my birthday present, moving away from this place filled with dirt. She always desired bigger better things for the two of us. Living in the Valley of Ashes all her life with a husband who died of smoke inhalation and me to take care of, she's worked every job in this pile of rusted junk.

When I was younger, before I went to bed, she would tell me of East Egg and all its wonders. She would tell me that one day we would go there and live like queens. But East Egg always seemed like a far off city that was all in my mother's head and being transferred into mine so that I could, one day, tell my own daughter about that distant fantasy city. I never imagined we'd actually get there.

Of course, I had to ditch the idea of being a queen.

Tom Buchanan is one of the wealthiest men in East Egg. That's what Mom told me. "Imagine getting a piece of those riches, even if it is only a crumb. Imagine living in house like that, even if it's in the smallest room. Arabella, this could be our first step."

That's usually my cue to start rejoicing at our fortune, but I had had enough of her empty promises. I hum my pleasure sarcastically and crunch into another piece of bacon. Besides the Valley of Ashes had grown on me. I was beginning to love people walking around here with soot so thick all I could see was their mournful eyes.

Especially the eyes of Dr. Eckleburg, which stare at me through those wire-rimmed glasses of his and into directly my room. When I was four or five, which was when we first moved into this apartment, I feared those eyes and avoided sleeping in my room as much as possible. But like everything else in this valley, he's grown on me. Now I talk to him and ask him for counseling, even though I know he'll never answer.

WVWVW

Mom told me to dress respectively. I tried my hardest. My long ash black hair was pushed behind my ears and held there with bobby pins. I wore a skin-colored flapper dress, which all the guys at school hated. "It doesn't show enough. Let's see some curves." I'll give them curves.

We were standing in front of a beautiful massive house. Technically, Mom was standing in front. I was inspecting every detail I could before the door creaked open slowly and a kind-looking woman with blonde locks that cascaded over her shoulders and onto an overly exposed chest stood in the crack of the doorway. "Yes?" she said in a whispery voice that seemed to suit her perfectly.

"I'm Mrs. Colby." Mom nodded her head in regards to the woman. "Mr. Buchanan said he was looking for a new servant."

"Ah, of course, Mrs. Colby," she smiled again and opened the door wide enough for us to step into the doorway. "Come inside. I'll get my husband. Wait there, will you?" She turned down one of many hallways in search of the infamous Mr. Buchanan.

I scrutinized over a vase. "She seems nice. A bit of an airhead, but nice." I said a little too loudly than I planned.

"Arabella!" Mom spun so quickly I almost dropped the vase. Her lips pursed angrily.

"Sorry." I replaced the ceramic.

At that moment, a burly-looking man stood in front of us. He looked as though he could squish me with his pinky. His eyes were ridden with a hatred toward the two of us like we'd interrupted the most important thing in his life. But somewhere in his eyes I caught a weakness that couldn't identify just yet. "I've been expecting you. Come, I have a room for you and your daughter."

"My wife is expecting a friend over this afternoon. Her name is Jordan Baker. Prepare the basics of tea. The cook will have dinner ready at 5 o'clock. I'll expect you to bring it when I say so..." He sounded like a recording as he spewed off all the information Mom needed to know.

Meanwhile, my eyes panned the room. There is a huge bed pressed against the back wall. The walls are a cream corn yellow. The rug is a dusty gray like the walls in our old apartment. A wooden closet sliding door stands proudly facing the bed as though the two have been in competition with each other over who owns the room.

I walked over to the singular window and let in the fresh-cut-grass smell of the air flow into the room. No more toxic air to breath. Dr. Eckleburg could no longer comfort me.

I suddenly realized the recording had ceased and I twisted to meet those hating eyes only now they held a hint of fondness. "Daisy tells me she likes you. She wants you to work for her personally. Could you do that?"

"What would that require, Mr. Buchanan?"

"Please call me Tom." His body leaned closer to me.

"What would that require?" I gulped. "Tom." He was making more than uncomfortable.

"Preparing her clothes, brushing her hair, helping her with the baby. That sort of thing." He smiled eerily.

"I'd love to." I told him quickly; anything to get him to leave the room.

A/N: Please tell me what you think...tho i already know it sucks!!