Chapter 1

This chapter serves to introduce Zoey's personality, along with several key characters that play important parts in the plot. Also, the main setting is introduced as well.

I zipped up my black-and-white striped hoodie, fiddling with the worn zipper as it caught the bad parts of the plastic teeth. My phone, laying amongst some chaotic clutter on my dresser, buzzed loudly on the old wooden surface. Opting to simply stuff it into my pocket, I gave myself a final assessment in the dresser mirror. With my hair looking a bit unruly, I decided to take a brush to it and pull it up into two, long pigtails. Passing a half smile to myself, I grabbed my book bag and strode out of my room, down the hall and to the kitchen.

            “Good morning,” greeted Mom from the table, hidden behind a newspaper. I rolled my eyes and walked over to routinely grab the lunch bag in front of her, along with a piece of toast from her own breakfast plate. She folded the paper down and grimaced behind her glasses. I stared at her and stuck the toast in my mouth. Mom, like clockwork, said her daily catchphrase, “Let’s be a little more respectful Zoey.”

            I crossed the room to the fridge and rustled through it, ignoring Mom’s existence for the moment to search for the orange juice carton. I heard the newspaper rustle and glanced to see she had gone back to skimming over it. Sighing softly, I pulled the carton out and put it on the counter. Grabbing a plastic cup from the cupboard, I poured myself some orange juice and took another bite of toast. Right then the old clock in our living room chimed and warned me it was time to leave. I put the toast back in my mouth, grabbed my cup and lunch bag, and started to scoot out of the kitchen.

            “Hey, hold back a sec!” called Mom, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes again. I halfheartedly turned around and expressed my displeasure in purposely drooping my gaze. Mom frowned before speaking, “Would it be a bother for you to pick up some milk after school?”

“I’ve got band practice,” I muttered through the toast in my mouth, “I’ll pick it up after.”

“Be back before eight!” Mom shouted to me as I shambled awkwardly to the front door. Eight-thirty sounds better, I thought as I shuffled to open the door with my foot. Finally achieving my goal of the day, I stepped outside on the porch and felt the autumn breeze tickle my legs through the holes in my jeans. My favorite season was finally here, but the anniversary of a particular melancholy memory ruined the beautiful red and yellow colors. I brushed the thought of it off and strolled down the yard, kicking some of the leaves grouped together from the wind.  My sneakers then slapped noisily onto the pavement of the uneven sidewalk, and the tiring trek to the terror of school began.

            “Friday,” I whispered, taking a quick sip of orange juice, “just remember it’s Friday.” On my walk, I only managed to see the usual marvels Pace Village offered in the morning. Our old neighbor Mr. Duffy was grumbling on the way to his mailbox, the paper boy was finally finishing his rounds and peddling to the middle school, and Mrs. Mather’s was smugly walking her rat dog Cerberus. Is it wrong to wish harm to an animal if it’s Satan’s spawn? I questioned as the dog yapped angrily at me.

Finally reaching school grounds wasn’t exactly a bouquet of roses either, as I unluckily caught sight of Vanessa Summers’ flashy, red monster of a convertible pulling into the parking lot. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, I popped the rest of my toast in my mouth and trudged to the open doors of the double-story, brick building, where the little puppets known as my peers gathered to chatter about anything that caught their stare. I made my way through the maze of hormones and overbearing scents, hearing some of the hateful clucking of gossiping hens.

Pushing past some prowling jocks and into the hallway, I brought my cup up to take a drink. In that moment, as the tart drink touched my lips, a reaching hand smacked my arm. My cup flew forward, and the last drink of my orange juice splattered all over me. The sound of the plastic cup hitting the ground was all I heard right before a roar of laughter erupted from the entire hallway. I looked down shocked and saw the huge wet spots all down my hoodie, feeling them seep to my T-shirt underneath.

“God, what a klutz!” laughed Cassidy McCay, her overly-tanned arm pointing straight at me. I felt my nose burn, feeling familiar tears group in my eyes. I gripped my lunch bag and hurried to the bathroom, barging through more of my peers cackling at their own cruelty. Bursting through the door, I hurried to the sink and wet some paper towels. I vigorously rubbed at the stains as the embarrassment of my oncoming tears set-in. Friday, I thought as a sole tear escaped my eye and trickled past my gritting teeth. Just remember its Friday.

“I thought I saw you run in here,” echoed a familiar voice along the bathroom walls. I glanced up to see Vanessa, her arms folded over her white halter top. Her blond hair, which curled around her smirking, round face, lightly bounced as she casually strode to the sink next to me. She then pulled out a bright shade of pink lipstick from her miniature purse. My embarrassment was instantly overcome with agitation, and I wiped my eyes and continued cleaning the stains that had now seeped uncomfortably to my skin.

“They’re all jerks, aren’t they Zoey?” started Vanessa, rubbing the lipstick delicately across her puckered lips. “Why someone would do such a heinous thing to somebody that’s already so unfortunate, it just isn’t right.”

“Like you have room to talk,” I grumbled as I fidgeted with a particularly tough stain. She capped the lipstick and tossed it back into her purse. She actually chose to face me before she mockingly spoke, “Why must you be so cold to me Zoey? Maybe you deserved that drink knocked all over you.”

I didn’t choose to return her stare or her spiteful words, but I could still feel her eyes burning into my mind. Vanessa’s torment was a daily occurrence, no matter when or where, and her lack of a conscience allowed her to berate me without remorse. She, along with her band of merry-b*****s, were nothing but heartless. My misery seemed to make them feel proud, almost as if they had some uncontrollable power over me.

“What? You think you’re just gonna ignore me now?” Vanessa questioned peevishly as she stepped closer, the scent of her powerful perfume now poisoning the air around me. Choosing not to fully acknowledge Vanessa was my recent tactic in foiling her feelings of dominance over me, but it seemed that my plan was only fueling her hatred. I could feel the intense heat between us before it was cut short, as Vanessa scoffed and unexpectedly swaggered away to the door. However, before she walked out, Vanessa paused and nasally uttered, “Just you wait you pathetic, little coward, you’ll never be happy as long as I’m around.”  

My mind raced with unthinkable thoughts as the door shut behind Vanessa’s bulimic a*s. I crumpled the wad of paper towels in my hand and threw them at the mirror. You’ll never be happy as long as I’m around, echoed Vanessa’s acidic words as I stared at myself in the mirror. A large lump seemed to form in my stomach, like an intense fireball swirled with angst. I bent over and placed my hands on the cold, porcelain sink.

Slowly, after a few minutes, my anger subsided and my sense of the world returned. I forced Vanessa out of my mind and took off my hoodie, sighing at the remaining wet spots that obviously showed on my orange T-shirt. I stuffed my hoodie, along with my lunch, into my book bag and walked out quietly into the now less populous hallway. Immediately, I was met with a few more badgering comments about my stained shirt. It took a lot for me not to turn around and wallop Andrew McCormick when he cackled, “Looks like someone’s wet today!”

With my day already taken over by the unfortunate events that plague my everyday life, the tardy bell decided to ring right as I walked into Speech. Mr. Oakland glanced from his desk and did his usual frown at me. His sleepy eyes, magnified by the thick lenses of his glasses, flickered to the stains on my shirt. I gave him a faux half-smile and started to walk to my desk, but Mr. Oakland’s monotonous voice beamed at me.

“Ms. Graham, how nice of you to make it on time today. Since you were the last to arrive, you wouldn’t care to give your oral report first?” Faint snickers waved around the room. My fake smile disappeared, and a giant middle finger directed at Mr. Oakland popped into my mind. I reluctantly stepped to the front of the room, setting my book bag on the floor and shuffling through the mess inside it. Finding my report at last, I stood back up and faced the class. Only about half of the people before me were even looking up from their high-tech phones or their sparkly nails. I noticed Vanessa and Cassidy sitting in the back, chatting as if they were the only existing beings in the world. You’ll  never be happy as long as I’m around, flashed in my mind.

“Anytime now Ms. Graham,” griped Mr. Oakland. I shook away the words and looked down at my essay. My eyes fretfully skimmed over it as I had forgotten what was even written down. Focusing, I began to read the bold-faced title.

“The Honey Making Ritual of Bees, by Zoey Graham.” My eyes glanced up to catch a glimpse of more people not paying attention, but I continued reading, “The subject of bees has a plethora of topics, but one of the major ones is how beekeepers vary around the world. Europeans, Asians, and Americans all view the hairy bugs in different ways, and that has changed"”

“Pardon me Ms. Graham,” groused Mr. Oakland as he directed his hand at me, “Excuse me? Ms. Summers, Ms. McCay?” I looked up again and followed his eyes to the back of the room. Vanessa and Cassidy snappily looked up at him, their legs crossed and arms propped daintily on their desks. Although Mr. Oakland is a teacher, and an utter d********g, he was still naive enough to interrupt a conversation between Queen Vanessa and one of her royal subjects.

“Yes Mr. Oakland?” the Queen replied, her voice mirroring her absent interest. Mr. Oakland, who obviously suspected both her and Cassidy’s lack of concern, narrowed his eyes and asked, “Do either of you have a question for Ms. Graham?”

The class now stared back at them. Cassidy looked to Vanessa, hoping her master would devise a quick plan. Vanessa’s lips tightened and she slyly browsed around the room. She always did that when put on the spot, like a trapped animal calculating its next attack. Mr. Oakland leaned back in his swivel chair and waited for a response.

“I guess I have a question for Ms. Graham,” Vanessa said leerily. You’ll never be happy as long as I’m around. Our previous argument continuously invaded my thoughts as Vanessa’s cross gaze now unfortunately directed itself at me. Her noxious mouth slightly curled into an almost unnoticeable smirk as she began, “Why did you choose such an…interesting subject?”

“Uh…” I was at a loss with words. Cassidy grinned at Vanessa, who stared at me with a fakest sense of curiosity. My brain, now completely populated with thoughts of her vicious attack from earlier, s**t itself and I couldn’t think. With a such a simple question, the Queen had put me in place and it was a firm checkmate.

“Well Ms. Graham? Do you have an answer for Ms. Summers?” questioned Mr. Oakland. I nervously glanced at him and saw his monotonous expression glaring at me. I then focused back on my essay, trying to subtly sneak a peek at the other paragraphs I had written. Still searching for an answer that didn’t seem to come, I fumbled with my response.

“Um, I figured bees would be, uh, a good"”

“Topic?” said Vanessa, interrupting my answer to her own terrible question. “Well, I have to disagree with you. Although bees can be a good topic on an environmental issue, the title of your report tells me, your listener, that you took an informational route. Did you?”

“I, uh…” I stuttered as I felt my forehead itch at the first wave of perspiration. Not only did I forget what the paper was suppose to be about, I felt tense in my chest as I realized how foolish I must’ve looked. “There’s a paragraph about"”

“A paragraph? Isn’t the entire report supposed to be about an environmental issue?” asked Vanessa. A triumphant smile crossed her face as her eyes passed over me and back to Mr. Oakland. I turned back to him and found he was still grimacing at me. My mind had now completely short-circuited and all I could do was wait to be slammed by him. Mr. Oakland dramatically rose from his desk and dully spoke, “Ms. Graham, I see you lack a rebuttal to Ms. Summers’ valid point. Perhaps you should listen to instructions more instead of doodling, please take your seat.”

Author's Note

This chapter is now finished in terms of length, but I am open to add more. I have done more editing, but like all authors, I've probably missed a view obvious mistakes. I am happy to hear any comments! Also, anytime you see a random " that doesn't look similar to the font shown, it was actually suppose to be a HYPHEN. For some odd reason, the site keeps changing it to a quotation mark.