“LENAYE!” A bellow woke me up from my sleep. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, personally how do you do that? I blinked twice. Recognizing the form in front of me I grinned sheepishly and mumbled. Of course it was my step-mother; she caught me doing the things I shouldn’t do. For instance, falling asleep in church which happened to be my latest crime.
“Damn seats,” I winched while turning around, “you know I should complain how hard these pews are.” My step-mom gave me that glare that was like, don’t-you-dare-make-me-look-bad-in-front-of-everyone kind of face. I just laughed, that’s how I dealt with this kind of pressure, laughed it off.
I tried, I really did to stay awake in church just this time, but waking me up, a seventeen year old girl who was in love with her pillow, for church at seven a.m. wasn’t right. Just like having hard pews. Absently twirling a lock of my hair black around my finger I grimaced as the preacher-dude preached, I know that you knew that I was going to say preached, about the resurrection. At the end everyone stood up and clapped, I sat down, refusing to move and grumbled.
“Lenaye, I mean it, if you doze of while we are in church I will take this up with your father.” We both knew she would never do that, I am my daddy’s little girl, the artist and writer that will one day surpass her “old man” and write stories that will capture the world’s attention. Or that’s how my dad and siblings say it.
Halleluiah, church.is.done! I, being the drama queen, sprinted out of the glass door, earning disapproving glances from all of the people, and burst into the sun shine. Raising my face up to the warm sun I grinned, now all that was to make my day was to get that spiral back and finish writing. No she wouldn’t let me. If you guessed who that she was and guesses my step-mom you are right! Ding ding ding, we have a winner. Let me tell you something, my step-mother despises authors and will not stand her “daughter” write stories when she can be doing something else. Right, her “else” means join all of the prep clubs, dances, models-walking-down-the-isleythingies, and stuff like that. Let me picture me for you in my everyday clothes, long black hair always down, when its warm tank tops and in winter sweaters and sweatshirts, jeans or running shorts. Now try imagining this, pink frilly gown, a ton of makeup and of course as everyone at my school says “a woman’s best accessory besides diamonds’ is the purse.” Doesn’t work.
“Brinnnngg, brinnnnnggggg.” My cell phone. Instantly picking it up I cradled it in my ear after checking the caller id.
“Kathine, so what’s the scoop?” Kathine, soon to be newsreporter always, I mean ALWAYS calls me when she has found an interesting story and needs me to write it. But this time it was different.
“Ohmigosh! Len you won’t believe what just happened to me like…three seconds ago.”
Chapter Two
“And you know the gas station that I ALWAYS go to after seeing that totally hot guy, Rick?” I hmmm to show that I am still listening, “And I just ran into him!” Her breath got all high-pitchy and squeaks, number one sign that she was in “love.” Right love. I knew love existed but I wouldn’t believe it could happen to me after it did. And reading so many stories I knew I was setting my self up to fail. But it was a challenge I couldn’t back down from. I zoned out from her babbling but caught the last sentenced.
“…and you should TOTALLY come with me and him for our date at the Cantan Bar!” Whoa slow down there, a BAR?
“Kathine, did you just say you are going to meet a guy you have HARDLY talked to at a bar with people making out and drinking at night.” A silence, she was pondering what she should say, her of all people knew how I went, strictly no drinking, swearing, smoking, making out, and most definitely do not go out with men who are almost five grades older than you. Add five to seventeen and there is how old our “buddy” Rick is. Twenty-two, he is perfectly legal to drink but is Kathine, no.
“Damn seats,” I winched while turning around, “you know I should complain how hard these pews are.” My step-mom gave me that glare that was like, don’t-you-dare-make-me-look-bad-in-front-of-everyone kind of face. I just laughed, that’s how I dealt with this kind of pressure, laughed it off.
I tried, I really did to stay awake in church just this time, but waking me up, a seventeen year old girl who was in love with her pillow, for church at seven a.m. wasn’t right. Just like having hard pews. Absently twirling a lock of my hair black around my finger I grimaced as the preacher-dude preached, I know that you knew that I was going to say preached, about the resurrection. At the end everyone stood up and clapped, I sat down, refusing to move and grumbled.
“Lenaye, I mean it, if you doze of while we are in church I will take this up with your father.” We both knew she would never do that, I am my daddy’s little girl, the artist and writer that will one day surpass her “old man” and write stories that will capture the world’s attention. Or that’s how my dad and siblings say it.
Halleluiah, church.is.done! I, being the drama queen, sprinted out of the glass door, earning disapproving glances from all of the people, and burst into the sun shine. Raising my face up to the warm sun I grinned, now all that was to make my day was to get that spiral back and finish writing. No she wouldn’t let me. If you guessed who that she was and guesses my step-mom you are right! Ding ding ding, we have a winner. Let me tell you something, my step-mother despises authors and will not stand her “daughter” write stories when she can be doing something else. Right, her “else” means join all of the prep clubs, dances, models-walking-down-the-isleythingies, and stuff like that. Let me picture me for you in my everyday clothes, long black hair always down, when its warm tank tops and in winter sweaters and sweatshirts, jeans or running shorts. Now try imagining this, pink frilly gown, a ton of makeup and of course as everyone at my school says “a woman’s best accessory besides diamonds’ is the purse.” Doesn’t work.
“Brinnnngg, brinnnnnggggg.” My cell phone. Instantly picking it up I cradled it in my ear after checking the caller id.
“Kathine, so what’s the scoop?” Kathine, soon to be newsreporter always, I mean ALWAYS calls me when she has found an interesting story and needs me to write it. But this time it was different.
“Ohmigosh! Len you won’t believe what just happened to me like…three seconds ago.”
Chapter Two
“And you know the gas station that I ALWAYS go to after seeing that totally hot guy, Rick?” I hmmm to show that I am still listening, “And I just ran into him!” Her breath got all high-pitchy and squeaks, number one sign that she was in “love.” Right love. I knew love existed but I wouldn’t believe it could happen to me after it did. And reading so many stories I knew I was setting my self up to fail. But it was a challenge I couldn’t back down from. I zoned out from her babbling but caught the last sentenced.
“…and you should TOTALLY come with me and him for our date at the Cantan Bar!” Whoa slow down there, a BAR?
“Kathine, did you just say you are going to meet a guy you have HARDLY talked to at a bar with people making out and drinking at night.” A silence, she was pondering what she should say, her of all people knew how I went, strictly no drinking, swearing, smoking, making out, and most definitely do not go out with men who are almost five grades older than you. Add five to seventeen and there is how old our “buddy” Rick is. Twenty-two, he is perfectly legal to drink but is Kathine, no.
