Chapter 1 Summer

Summer
Chapter 1 (The Last Day)

    BEEP BEEP BEEP.
    I bolt up and tug at my sheets, half ready to jump out of bed. My immediate thought is that the fire alarm is going off--what other kind of other alarm could sound so, well, alarming?
    I spot the flashing blue light on my nightstand.
    The alarm on my phone could sound so alarming.
    I’d set the alarm last night since my alarm clock seems to wake everyone in the house except me. I'd been expecting to fall asleep quite quickly instead of staying up until four in the morning in anticipation of the last day of Sophomore year.
    On one hand, it was pretty damn scary that I will soon be entering my final years of high school in less than two months. But on the other hand, it was freaking awesome that it’s the last day of school and then summer.
    It had taken me years to realize that summer is my favorite time of year. I’d been thinking that it was winter because I love the snow and cold--but only for a few days. Because after those few days, my skin would get dry, I’d freeze every day, and my nose would get sore from breathing in the sub-zero air. Also, during winter and spring and autumn, there’s all sorts of bad things going on. Drama, fights, homework, grounding, school, etc.
    And then summer comes along and all the drama is gone. There’s nothing but the sun and the beach and my friends and the fun. Not to mention the parties. There isn’t a time in the year when I’m happier than summer. Shorts, the beach, swim suits, sunscreen, the sun--what else could a girl ask for?
    I’m jittery and excited as I climb out of bed and perform my usually daily routine. By the time I finish my shower, the bathroom is filled with steam and the mirrors are fogged up. Wiping the mirrors, I finish washing my face and brushing my teeth before heading back to my room to pick out an outfit to wear.
    My room is contains only a huge desk, a book case and a twin-sized bed, but there still isn’t any room for a dresser, so instead, I have pink plastic drawers hidden away in my small walk-in closet.
    As always, I know exactly what I’m going to wear--my favorite pair of shorts with frayed edges that I have to fold up once, otherwise they look funny; a coal-grey tank top with a piece sign on it; and a plain black jacket. Locating the articles of clothing that I plan on wearing is a different story. It takes me a while to find everything.
    When I find everything, I throw it on my five-foot-three 115 lb. frame and then check myself in the mirror before reaching for my make-up bag I keep in my purse. The only make-up I ever wear is eyeliner and some powder foundation. The powder foundation is an attempt to cover up the random, small zit that I occasionally get.
    Habitually, I check myself in the mirror one last time. I’ve taken a liking to my appearance in the past year, mostly because I’d lost about thirty pounds since Freshmen year. That’s the only thing I’ve ever had a problem with, but now I can wear a bikini without being ashamed and that only makes this summer better. It’s only one of the view things that have changed my appearance since the start of high school. My hair had grown out, now ending just below my bust and I have side-swept bangs. I now wear a makeup, so there’s black lines framing my almond-shaped brown eyes. My skin is faintly tanned, but will probably get darker over the summer, as always.
    “Holly, I’m leaving.” My mother says at the same time as she opens my bedroom door.
    “Mom, knock!” I automatically shout. It’s my natural teen instinct.
    Immediately, my mom is pissed and slams the door as she leaves.
    I shake my head as I shut off my stereo and head downstairs. This is how it’s always been with my mother. She’d do something, I compulsively said something and then suddenly she’s more pissed than a donkey when you pull it’s tail.
    I grab my purse on my way out the door and walk down fourteen houses down, stopping at the one with the silver Mazda 6 Wagon parked in the driveway. I enter the house without knocking and drop my bag in the living room, where Rayna’s grandmother is sitting in her armchair and watching the news since she can’t walk.
    “Morning.” I say to her politely.
    “Morning.” She replies.

 I hop up the stairs and march up to Rayna’s room, trying to doorknob. Locked.
“Rayna!” I yell, pounding on the door. “Hurry your a*s, we’re going to be late!”

    Maybe not just yet. Usually, we leave by seven-thirty and we’ve go five minutes, but normally it takes two minutes of continuous knocking for Rayna to actually open her door, then it takes a while to actually get in the car and drive away. And that’s our usual morning routine, which explains why I’m always such a megabitch in the morning.
    But today, I just don’t have the patience to wait for her. I kick the door with the tip of my Converse sneaker continuously until Rayna yanks open the door.
    “What?!” She yells in annoyance.
    “We’re gonna be late, dumbass--it’s almost seven-thirty.”
    She ignores me and walks back into her room to check her reflection in the mirror.
    Don’t get me wrong, I love Rayna--we’ve been friends since the second grade when we found out we lived on the same street--but sometimes I want nothing more than to just sit on her.
    At the moment, she’s making her seemingly ever-present poof. It’s what we call the thing she does to her hair. She takes a bunch of hair from the front of her head where the part in her hair starts, pulls it straight back along her part like she’s doing to pin it back and ties it with a little rubber band. Then she pulls the rubber band out a couple inches and pushes her hair forward, creating a little bump at the top of her head. Well, not exactly little seeing as it’s about as tall as a skyscraper.
    “I’ve lost seventeen pounds and it doesn’t even look like it!” Rayna says in irritation as she looks at herself in the mirror again.
    Rayna isn’t exactly tiny. In height, yes--she’s about five-one, but she’s been trying to lose weight for the past four months, always suggesting that we go walking, but doesn’t pick up when I call her. She’s short, but that poof seems to make up the difference between us. She’s fixing her long, semi-straight, sort of frizzy hair. It used to be straight until she got a crappy forty dollar perm a couple months ago.
    “I just need to do my makeup.” Rayna says like we have all the time in the world.
    “Forget it.” I reply in irritation. “I’ll drive. Grab your s**t and let’s go.” I motion to the door.
    “No!” She says indignantly.
    My eyes narrow and one hand closes on the back of her neck. Rayna automatically screams and starts laughing. It doesn’t take an idiot to find out that the tickle spot that is her entire neck is her weakness. Keeping one hand on her neck, I grab her lime green Juicy Couture purse and toss it into her arms. She keeps laughing as I push her out of the room with my hand on her neck. I don’t let go until we’re out the front door.

Reviews

[Prateeksha Khot]

Wow, interesting start. The story seems to be interesting. Cant wait to find out what happens next. I am off to the next chapter !