Sweet Little One-Chapter One

A Chapter by Annawrites

first chapter in "Sweet Little One"

Chapter One

I sit next to my best friend, Quinn Taylor on my bed. We’re leafing through fashion magazines. Thus far, nothing is catching my appeal. Quinn tosses the magazine aside and stretches her long legs on my bed.

As far as I can remember, I’ve known Quinn. Quinn and I met in kindergarten. We shared crayons and we’ve been best friends ever since. I recall her favorite color was purple, and so was mine. We would dot each other “I’s” as we would learn to write in first grade. In second grade, we would read each other a story. Our favorite was Peter Pan. Peter Pan still is our favorite movie and book today.

“What should we do now?” Quinn asked me, brushing her long blonde hair to her hips. Every guy at Ackerman High had a crush on Quinn. She is the captain of the cheerleading squad, and I can’t believe she choose me to be her best friend in kindergarten.

For me, guys don’t always notice me. I’m always quiet one, sneaky like a mouse. I have brown curly hair, to my shoulders. I’m four feet, short…and I really don’t like being short. I always have to ask for help when reaching for things on high shelves. Ever feel that way, if you’re my height?

“I’m not sure? Homework I guess? Our poetry assignment is due on Friday,” I reply.

“Ugh. I hate poetry,” was Quinn’s response.

“I know me too. I can’t make anything rhyme,” was mine.

“What are you two doing?” my older sister, Hannah strolls into the room. Hannah is smart and studies at Harvard. She’s on summer break, and she took the summer off at home. Her excuse is to study and be advance on Harvard’s material for the upcoming year. If I were her, I’d take my summer break to Florida.

Florida is my favorite place to be. The sun is always shining, the skies are always blue. I would dip my toes in the water, and then let them sink the sand. Oh-and there are defiantly cute guys. Another sigh. I wish it my spring break. College spring break is early. Well at least Hannah’s spring is.

“We’re looking at fashion magazines,” Quinn replies, and hands Heather a fashion magazines.

“I remember my teen days,” Hannah laughs. “We would pour over these things. They got boring after awhile.”

“That’s where we are now,” I say.

“Dinner is almost ready,” Hannah replies.

“Oh, what are you making?” I ask Hannah. Mom is tends to be at bars every night, and coming home drunk. She also hooks up every guy she sees. I can already tell it’s not healthy, and when I grow up-I really don’t want to live in that lifestyle. I’ll get married and have a couple kids of my own, and live in a mansion-my dream house.

The first day of school is tomorrow, and I’m least elated. I don’t know why since it’s my senior year. I already have senioritis. I would do a count down, but I hate math, and I hate counting. Even though I am not elated, I have big plans for this senior year. I want to try out editing for the yearbook, maybe even try out for the cheerleading squad. Quinn says she’ll choose me to be on the squad. I know I’ll make it for sure. I would get to wear those cheerleading uniforms, and wave those pom-poms.

“Earth to Audrey,” Hannah waves her hand in front of my face.

I blink twice. “Opps, sorry.”

“I’m home!” Mom walks in a little funny. Her words slurring a little bit. I can tell she’s drunk. “Yum, dinner smells good. Who cooked?”

“I did,” Hannah answers.

“What you-u, hav-ving?” Mom slurs her words again.

“Pork chops,” Hannah replies. She makes Mom a plate and settles the plate on the table. I take a bite of my pork chop. Suddenly, Mom hurls all over the floor. I just lost my appetite. I can’t stand this scene any longer.

“Excuse me,” I say.

“You’re not going to help clean up?” Hannah glares at me.

“I can’t. I have too much honor English homework. I have to read The Great Gasby,” I reply.

“I made dinner, and you’re not cleaning up,” Hannah says, completely ignoring Mom’s puke on the floor.

“Can, can someone help me?” Mom winces.

“Audrey, get the towel,” Hannah barks. I go upstairs and fetch a towel and bring it back downstairs. Mom is now lying on the couch, defiantly drunk.

“Why doesn’t she go to bed?” I ask.

“She’s unable to walk; she’s already passed out anyways.”

“Oh,” was all I say. I glance at Mom, passed out. Why does she do this to herself? This is why I can’t have any friends over but Quinn. Quinn understands, and she knows my Mom. Quinn doesn’t tell my darkest secret about Mom to anyone. I trust her with all my heart. Quinn has always been there for me, and would be there for her.

“Please help clean up,” Hannah says with irritation.

I give in. “Fine.”

The next day, I wake up a bit late. Ugh. Its eight o’clock and my senior year started without me. I climb out of bed, still in my sleep and I stumble as I hit the alarm on my clock. I slept through homeroom, good job Audrey. Now if I can just wake up and smell the start of a new day.

I glance around my messy room. Fashion magazines are still spread out on my bed. My bed is also unmade, it’s always unmade. I never make it up. When Mom’s sober, she nags me about it, and won’t leave me alone. Since it’s my first day of school, I thought I’d make my bed. I casually fold the sheets over the mattress so it’ll line up with the pillows. I set my pillows neatly against my lime green wall.

I pick up my fashion magazines and put them in the magazine racks. I have tons and tons of fashion magazines, wedding magazines (yes, wedding. I like to dream of my own wedding some day), and for the home magazines. When I get bored, I cut out pictures of magazines and put them in a journal type notebook. I call that notebook “Dream Notebook.” No one knows about it, but of course Quinn. That’s what we also do when we’re bored. The Dream Notebook is stashed under my bed.

I start the shower, and I undress. I hop in the shower, trying not to trip on any towels or my clothes. I rinse my hair, letting the hot water drench my hair, and let it slide down my body. It feels so good to me, and I feel waken up a bit. Maybe I don’t need coffee this morning. I shampoo my hair, and then condition. After cleaning my body, I turn the shower head to off.

I wrap a towel around me, and then get dressed in a pink tank top with a matching blue shrug, and a mini skirt. I blow dry my hair and then curl it. Sometimes I do love curls, especially on rainy days, but at the same time-I desire to have straight hair. Taylor Swift always loved straight hair, but her signature style is curly hair.

I did a double take at the mirror. I always want to look my best before heading out. You never know when you would come across a true love. I hope my true love will last, people say it will. True love will never end in a divorce. At least I hope the facts are true.

I am looking fine today, not that I love myself. But my curly hair is perfect; my blue eyes are sparkly through my black glasses. My mini skirt and shirt are not wrinkling. There’s not a piece of food stuck in my braces. The only downer is I’m late for my first day of school.

My cell phone rings in my bedroom as I exit the bathroom. I rush and answered it. Technically we’re not allowed to answer phone during school hours, but I guess Quinn used a bathroom pass and is in the hallway. Her ID is displaying on my cell phone’s window.

“Where are you, Aud?” Quinn questions me.

“I slept extra late. Okay, I overslept,” I reply.

“You better get your butt here,” Quinn responds.

“I know, I just got dressed.” I hang up, not even saying goodbye. Quinn hates when I do that. She says it’s not polite to not say “goodbye.” It’s not a big deal really, but the one quirk I don’t like about her, she likes drama and gossip. It takes a reality check to simplify why I hang out with her.

I glance at the clock, eight-thirty. I better get my behind to school. Mom will kill me, if that she’s sober. I snatch my backpack and purse. My purse is a Coach brand, Hannah got it for me when she went to China with her Chinese club last year. She says it wasn’t a fake either, and I love this purse. I carry this purse everywhere I go.

I put on my flip flops, it’s still warm in New Hampshire, even though it’s fall. It doesn’t get cold until late October. My favorite season is fall. I love picking apples, and choosing out pumpkins (and carving them). I love the seeds that Hannah would make when we were little. I love how the leaves change and they crunch under my feet. Yes…I am in love…with fall. That is my confession.

I hurry my butt out of my room before I lollygag. It’s eight-thirty-five. The clock is ticking. I quickly hurry to my Volkswagon Beetle that I got for my sixteenth birthday. I absolute adore this bug. I named it “The Bug.” Dad chooses the car for me and he chooses lime green. Lime green is my favorite color. He did a job picking out the car. I love driving The Bug.

I climbed into The Bug and turn on the stereo as I pull out of the driveway. I turn onto Main Street, and then went onto South Valley Street, and pulled into Ackerman High’s parking lot. I already got my parking spot that would allow me to park directly in this spot. It’s mine, all mines.

I almost fall when I climb out of The Bug, and my books fell out of my backpack across the charcoal pavement. I gather them up with a red face and placed them in my backpack. I slung my book bag over my shoulder and headed into Ackerman High.

Ackerman High is a beautiful school. I loved all my four years here. It feels like a home sweet home to me. Ackerman High just reopened a week ago, they were adding in extra art room. There are a lot of art students here, and they just hired one more teacher. The teacher complained about sharing an art room, and that sent Ackerman High into construction.

“Hi, I am Audrey. I am a bit late,” I greet an office helper at a desk that’s in the foyer of Ackerman High.

“What’s your excuse?” the girl, who has blonde hair and blue eyes.

“My tire was flat,” I lie.

“We’ll excuse you this time,” the guy says and sighs. The guy is cute, brown hair and green eyes. Then I realized it’s Michael Martinez.

“Michael is that you?” I asked. “You’re back?”

“Yes,” Michael replies and smiles. “Audrey, it’s been a long time.” Michael Martinez is Spanish, and his family transferred to Spain last year. I forgot he was coming back this summer. I had a major crush in freshman year, and now it’s beating at my heart.

“It has. How was Spain?” I question him.

“Great. When’s your lunch period?”

“Eleven o’clock, after Chemistry.”

“Maybe we should catch up a bit at lunch,” Michael smiles again.

“I’d like that,” I say, and my heart pounds even harder.

“How about I’ll meet you at your locker,” Michael makes plans.

“Oh that-I don’t know where my locker is,” I laugh nervously.

“You better go to the Main Office and get your number and combination.”

“Right.” I do what he told me, and I retrieve my locker number and combination. I head to my locker and put my things in it. I don’t have any text books yet, and I find my English class okay.

“Do you have a late pass?” my English teacher, Ms. Latimer asks me. Ms. Latimer stands there, she’s short like me- she has gray hair in a bun, and wears red glasses.

“Sure,” I reply and hand over the late pass. She scribbles her signature and gives it back to me. She orders me to sit at the front row. I slump into a desk and Ms. Latimer delivers me a literature textbook. The literature textbook is thick and heavy, about over 500 pages.

“Please turn to 108, and read Shakespeare’s play, Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Ms. Latimer grunts. We obey and flip towards Midsummer Night’s Dream play. I skim over the play, writing down notes from Act I to Act V. I review the notes carefully, making sure-or try to understand the play. “I would like you to have a two page essay, double space by Friday.”

The class groans. I reread it again, writing down even more notes that I might have missed. Somehow I understand the plot of the play now, and I actually really like it. I don’t know why I disliked Shakespeare in the first place, maybe that I hadn’t comprehended the literature.

English class ends when the bell chimes throughout the school. I realize I didn’t have English class with Quinn. I didn’t even search for her; I was to focus in turning the late pass to Ms. Latimer. I checked my schedule; I have algebra, then following after that-chemistry.

“What was your excuse for being late?” Quinn creeps up behind me, and it freaked me out.

“Quinn, you know I don’t like it when you sneak up on me like that,” I snap.

“Why? Its fun,” Quinn snickers. “You should’ve seen your face.”