Being Stupid. Chapter OneA Chapter by Emma Marie Taylor
"How was school?" My mother asks, shoveling a fork full of spaghetti into her mouth. Classy. I stare down at my plate, twirling the slimy, sick noodles with the tines of my fork.
As crappy as any day. "Good." I answer, not looking up. My mother smiles, "Good!" I shake my head and sigh, taking a sip of my soda. My mother's smile sags and turns into a scowl. My mother hates my caffeine addiction. She says its bad for my ADHD. Feeling rebellious, I take another swig, digging my fork into my spaghetti, angrily chopping the poor noodle's life into two sticky chunks. My mother turns to my younger sister, "What about you May?" My sister beams at the sudden attention and flips a blond braid behind her shoulder, "Fun! Today at recess, Dave shoved an entire crayon up his nose! It was so cool!" I smile, admiring my little sister's enthusiasm. "Is Dave the boy that always makes you those cards?" I ask. May's cheeks blush crimson and she looks down, "Yeah." My mother, once again gives me a disapproving gaze, "Sage? Don't you have to study?" I sigh, and slump out of my chair, setting my dish in the sink, and heading up the stairs. * * * The variable of the expression in a improper fraction can be classified in a group called ______? I sigh, running my hands through my red hair, tangling the wild curls. I look up from my book and look at the small prescription bottle next to my desk lamp. FOCALIN. It reads, along with some other medical details I never bother to read. Eight years. Eight. Years. And I'm still an idiot. I slam my book closed, drop my head down. The voices scream and whisper in my head, mumbling chants, Stupid. Dumb. Crazy. Those kids were right. Stupid. Crazy. Dumb. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. "Shut up!" I scream, snapping my head up, covering my hands over my ears. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Tears threaten to spill over, but I hold them back, and stare out the window. I look out in my neighbor's yard to see the dark frame of Jeromy Taylor. He smiles shyly at me, waving his hand awkwardly. I wave back. That kid is so weird. I think to myself, and close the blinds. © 2012 Emma Marie TaylorAuthor's Note
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Emma Marie TaylorMuncie, INAboutI am fifteen years old. I am a sophomore in high school, and writing is my passion. I love poetry, books, novellas, short stories, limericks, lyrics, stories, journals, blogs, chapters, etc. I lov.. more..Writing
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