Post by valcentica on Sept 11, 2007 19:07:19 GMT -5
Okay, so I'm not totally sure of the title yet, suggestions would be LOVELY. also any questions, comments, or editing suggestions would be appreciated! THANKS!
CHAPTER ONE: WEDNESDAY
In high school, there’s always that one person you wake up for. There’s always the captain of the football team and the head cheer leader. There’s always a group of Goths, who dress in black, and there’s always the quiet ones. And the smart ones who show off whenever they can. My high school was no different. Except for me. I never had a crowd, and what really set me apart was, I never woke up for anyone. I woke up because it was a routine. I grabbed something from the pile of clothes on my floor and I went down to breakfast. My mom was always so cheerful. It really bothered me that someone could smile all the time and ignore all her problems. It also bothered me that, as a result, my bacon always smiled and my eggs were always sunny side up. After breakfast I would put on my make-up, brush my teeth, and grab my back pack from the door way. I took my keys from a peg by the door and drove to school. Then occasionally, I would do last night’s homework while I waited for first period to start. But that was it. I only ever had one friend. Miranda. She was supportive, but she was always trying to get me to mingle. Like that was gonna happen. Then one day, it all changed. One day, I looked up when I was walking in the hallway, and got knocked in the head by a locker door. The reason I’d been willing to let my head get smashed was because of him. I’d looked up, and there he was. I didn’t know his name, and I didn’t care. All I knew was, tomorrow, I was waking up a hell of a lot earlier.
The rest of my classes went by in a blur. Miranda kept poking me and asking if I was okay. I kept telling her I was fine, but she didn’t buy it. That’s what I get for being friends with the nosiest girl in school. She also has the biggest mouth, so as much as I love Miranda, I wasn’t gonna let her know about Guy-I-Got-Smacked-In-The-Head-With-A-Locker-For. At least not yet. When I got home, I ran straight up to my room, completely ignoring my mom’s shout of how my day went. I plopped down on my bed and began to rifle through a yearbook. Who was he? What year was he in? How had I managed to be a senior and not notice that fine, fine boy? There was a knock on my door and I grunted. My mother took that as a sign to come in. “Sam?” she asked. Her voice was incredulous, but as per usual, there was a smile plastered to her face. “Hon, are you okay? You tore up here like you were on fire. You know, ladies do not run.” Oh yeah, that’s another thing about my mom. She wants me to be a ‘lady’. My name is Samantha Anderson, one of the worst names in history. Well, Samantha June Anderson to be precise. My mother wanted the perfect daughter. One that wore dresses, had pink frilly curtains, and kept her room immaculate. And to top it all off, she expected me to bring home a new guy every few months. Like I’d even show her a guy, that is to say, if I could even get one at all. But to disappoint her further, I don’t even have curtains. Nor will I even touch a dress. And my room, well…let’s just say it’s a small step up from my brother’s room. And that ain’t good. Another thing that drives my mom nuts is that I don’t use proper speech. I say things like ‘gonna’ and ‘ain’t’ and ‘don’t’. Yep, I’m not even supposed to use the word ‘don’t’. That’s how crazy she is. But, I guess she means well. So I responded with a simple “Yeah I’m fine,” then, to make her happy I added, “Sorry.” She looked at me quizzically, well as far into that expression you can get while smiling, and left. I traced my finger over the sophomore section really fast. He had to be a senior, with that body, he just had to. And this was last year’s yearbook. So he would’ve been a junior. But it never hurt to check. My jaw dropped. There he was. So that meant…he was a junior? How does that work out? d*mn juniors get everyone good, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t have him. I mean, I’m pretty plain. Shoulder length, straight brown hair, brown eyes, and a small structure. But I’m a senior. That’s got to get me some guy points. I think. He wasn’t as hot last year, but it was definitely him. I looked over to the left where the names were printed. James Latimer. God, even his name was hot. Well, to me anyways. I slammed myself back against my pillow, forgetting, once again, that it was my only pillow, and that I was seated higher than it. And for the second time that day, I whacked my head because I wasn’t paying attention. Wow. Who new that Mr. James Latimer would catch my eye twice? Well, considering I’d been looking for him in the yearbook, I did. But oh, well. As I stared up at the Led Zeppelin poster taped to my ceiling, I sank into thoughts of James Latimer. His black hair that seemed darker than black, cut just above his ear lobes, his deep striking eyes. They were blue. You never get that combo, and I do mean never. It’s only once in a while that you get blue eyes with black hair, and he had it. When I saw him he was wearing a tight T-shirt that framed and showed off his impeccable biceps. Then his light-colored jeans that were faded in all the right-or wrong, depending on how you look at it-places, and that smile. The smile was one of those smiles that makes your knees melt and stomach quiver. I just couldn’t- “SAM, DINNER!” My brother bellowed up the stairs, interrupting my mental appreciation of the male species. Really, the boy has no tact. Then again, he’s fifteen, and a junior. None of them know anything besides making stupid jokes and pointing at hot girls. Or girls they think are hot, anyway.
“God, David,” I said as I made my way downstairs to the kitchen table. “You could actually stop playing your games for something besides food, and get me. It’s not gentlemanly to shout.” My mom, as well as wanting me to be a lady, wants David to be a gentleman. Yup. The guy who has burping contests, doesn’t stop playing Halo, and wears baseball caps 24/7. She wants him to be a gentleman. Told you she was cracked.
“Well jeez, Sam. If you ever came out of that rat hole you call a room-” He retorted, shaking his shaggy brown hair from his eyes so that he could see the T.V. screen better.
“That is enough from you two. David, pause your game and come to the table. Sam, do not snipe at your brother. We are a pleasant, happy family. Happy families do not fight,” my mother cut in. She’s gotten so good at telling us off that she can even complete that with a smile. My father, on the other hand, didn’t even put down his paper. Yeah, he reads it at night, don’t ask. He just narrowed his eyes slightly over the top and when my mom threw him a ‘Happy families do not read at the table’ half-glare and smile, he hesitantly folded it up, and got up to get his plate from the counter. It was a few minutes later, when I was digging into my chicken Kiev, that my mother brought up a most hated subject.
“Samantha, I believe that it is time we went shopping and brought you a dress. I know you don’t like them, but you have missed all your school dances, and prom will be your last one. And I would like to see my lady grow up and go to a dance. With a boy.” Don’t you just love how she snuck the boy part in? As it was, I had already choked on the milk I was drinking when she started to speak. But that did it. At the word ‘boy’, my mouth fell open, and all the food inside spilled onto my plate. David exploded into convulsions of laughter, and my dad allowed a half smile to cross his face, which is more emotion than he’s showed in a few weeks. And that was while watching the Sox vs. Rockies on High Definition.
When I’d finally gotten my mouth under control, I managed to say, “Mom, I don’t know any boys. Nor do I want one currently,” Not true, but I wasn’t just going to tell my mom about James Latimer. No way. And then, my mother said something that made David fall to the floor in ecstasy.
“Sam, are you a…a lesbian?” She said it in a harsh whisper, her ever-present smile faded to a slightly up-turned line. David was hiccupping as I gave my answer. “No mom, I am not a lesbian. Shuttup, David. I just don’t know anyone of interest right now. And you know how I feel about school dances, Ma. They are a device made solely for the purpose of taking away creativity and making young women stress over their bodies, as well as making us listen to horrible music.” That last part I’ve said so many times that my dad mouthed it along with me. It’s total crap, but it’s an extra excuse. My mother perked up, relieved that I was not a lesbian, and began to clear the plates.
“First of all, darling, ladies do not tell their brothers to shut up. Nor do they call me ‘ma’, which I will not tolerate. And this is your last one. You are going. Now, who wants pie?” As I opened my mouth to reply, my protest turned into a request for pie, which was actually very good. After dinner, I retreated to my room to watch Donny Darko on my I-Pod, and chat to Miranda. She squealed when she heard that I was finally coming to a school dance.
“Not willingly,” I pointed out, but that didn’t seem to matter to her. She was rattling off boys that I could take when I stopped her and said, “Miranda, I hope you know that there is no way that I am going to prom. Plus, I am too busy not caring to go.” I cold almost hear her anger over the phone. To Miranda, the only thing more important than school dances is her boyfriend Jim. And me. But if I don’t go to our last prom, it’ll be letting her down. However, if I do go, I’ll be standing there while they make out in a corner. So the answer is no. And there was no way in hell I was getting a dress for a dance I wasn’t attending.
Which is why I was standing in the dress department three days later, while my mother gleefully paraded around, announcing to all who would listen(and some who wouldn’t), that I was going to prom.
I have more, but i'd like to see how this goes over before i post! THANKS!!!!!
CHAPTER ONE: WEDNESDAY
In high school, there’s always that one person you wake up for. There’s always the captain of the football team and the head cheer leader. There’s always a group of Goths, who dress in black, and there’s always the quiet ones. And the smart ones who show off whenever they can. My high school was no different. Except for me. I never had a crowd, and what really set me apart was, I never woke up for anyone. I woke up because it was a routine. I grabbed something from the pile of clothes on my floor and I went down to breakfast. My mom was always so cheerful. It really bothered me that someone could smile all the time and ignore all her problems. It also bothered me that, as a result, my bacon always smiled and my eggs were always sunny side up. After breakfast I would put on my make-up, brush my teeth, and grab my back pack from the door way. I took my keys from a peg by the door and drove to school. Then occasionally, I would do last night’s homework while I waited for first period to start. But that was it. I only ever had one friend. Miranda. She was supportive, but she was always trying to get me to mingle. Like that was gonna happen. Then one day, it all changed. One day, I looked up when I was walking in the hallway, and got knocked in the head by a locker door. The reason I’d been willing to let my head get smashed was because of him. I’d looked up, and there he was. I didn’t know his name, and I didn’t care. All I knew was, tomorrow, I was waking up a hell of a lot earlier.
The rest of my classes went by in a blur. Miranda kept poking me and asking if I was okay. I kept telling her I was fine, but she didn’t buy it. That’s what I get for being friends with the nosiest girl in school. She also has the biggest mouth, so as much as I love Miranda, I wasn’t gonna let her know about Guy-I-Got-Smacked-In-The-Head-With-A-Locker-For. At least not yet. When I got home, I ran straight up to my room, completely ignoring my mom’s shout of how my day went. I plopped down on my bed and began to rifle through a yearbook. Who was he? What year was he in? How had I managed to be a senior and not notice that fine, fine boy? There was a knock on my door and I grunted. My mother took that as a sign to come in. “Sam?” she asked. Her voice was incredulous, but as per usual, there was a smile plastered to her face. “Hon, are you okay? You tore up here like you were on fire. You know, ladies do not run.” Oh yeah, that’s another thing about my mom. She wants me to be a ‘lady’. My name is Samantha Anderson, one of the worst names in history. Well, Samantha June Anderson to be precise. My mother wanted the perfect daughter. One that wore dresses, had pink frilly curtains, and kept her room immaculate. And to top it all off, she expected me to bring home a new guy every few months. Like I’d even show her a guy, that is to say, if I could even get one at all. But to disappoint her further, I don’t even have curtains. Nor will I even touch a dress. And my room, well…let’s just say it’s a small step up from my brother’s room. And that ain’t good. Another thing that drives my mom nuts is that I don’t use proper speech. I say things like ‘gonna’ and ‘ain’t’ and ‘don’t’. Yep, I’m not even supposed to use the word ‘don’t’. That’s how crazy she is. But, I guess she means well. So I responded with a simple “Yeah I’m fine,” then, to make her happy I added, “Sorry.” She looked at me quizzically, well as far into that expression you can get while smiling, and left. I traced my finger over the sophomore section really fast. He had to be a senior, with that body, he just had to. And this was last year’s yearbook. So he would’ve been a junior. But it never hurt to check. My jaw dropped. There he was. So that meant…he was a junior? How does that work out? d*mn juniors get everyone good, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t have him. I mean, I’m pretty plain. Shoulder length, straight brown hair, brown eyes, and a small structure. But I’m a senior. That’s got to get me some guy points. I think. He wasn’t as hot last year, but it was definitely him. I looked over to the left where the names were printed. James Latimer. God, even his name was hot. Well, to me anyways. I slammed myself back against my pillow, forgetting, once again, that it was my only pillow, and that I was seated higher than it. And for the second time that day, I whacked my head because I wasn’t paying attention. Wow. Who new that Mr. James Latimer would catch my eye twice? Well, considering I’d been looking for him in the yearbook, I did. But oh, well. As I stared up at the Led Zeppelin poster taped to my ceiling, I sank into thoughts of James Latimer. His black hair that seemed darker than black, cut just above his ear lobes, his deep striking eyes. They were blue. You never get that combo, and I do mean never. It’s only once in a while that you get blue eyes with black hair, and he had it. When I saw him he was wearing a tight T-shirt that framed and showed off his impeccable biceps. Then his light-colored jeans that were faded in all the right-or wrong, depending on how you look at it-places, and that smile. The smile was one of those smiles that makes your knees melt and stomach quiver. I just couldn’t- “SAM, DINNER!” My brother bellowed up the stairs, interrupting my mental appreciation of the male species. Really, the boy has no tact. Then again, he’s fifteen, and a junior. None of them know anything besides making stupid jokes and pointing at hot girls. Or girls they think are hot, anyway.
“God, David,” I said as I made my way downstairs to the kitchen table. “You could actually stop playing your games for something besides food, and get me. It’s not gentlemanly to shout.” My mom, as well as wanting me to be a lady, wants David to be a gentleman. Yup. The guy who has burping contests, doesn’t stop playing Halo, and wears baseball caps 24/7. She wants him to be a gentleman. Told you she was cracked.
“Well jeez, Sam. If you ever came out of that rat hole you call a room-” He retorted, shaking his shaggy brown hair from his eyes so that he could see the T.V. screen better.
“That is enough from you two. David, pause your game and come to the table. Sam, do not snipe at your brother. We are a pleasant, happy family. Happy families do not fight,” my mother cut in. She’s gotten so good at telling us off that she can even complete that with a smile. My father, on the other hand, didn’t even put down his paper. Yeah, he reads it at night, don’t ask. He just narrowed his eyes slightly over the top and when my mom threw him a ‘Happy families do not read at the table’ half-glare and smile, he hesitantly folded it up, and got up to get his plate from the counter. It was a few minutes later, when I was digging into my chicken Kiev, that my mother brought up a most hated subject.
“Samantha, I believe that it is time we went shopping and brought you a dress. I know you don’t like them, but you have missed all your school dances, and prom will be your last one. And I would like to see my lady grow up and go to a dance. With a boy.” Don’t you just love how she snuck the boy part in? As it was, I had already choked on the milk I was drinking when she started to speak. But that did it. At the word ‘boy’, my mouth fell open, and all the food inside spilled onto my plate. David exploded into convulsions of laughter, and my dad allowed a half smile to cross his face, which is more emotion than he’s showed in a few weeks. And that was while watching the Sox vs. Rockies on High Definition.
When I’d finally gotten my mouth under control, I managed to say, “Mom, I don’t know any boys. Nor do I want one currently,” Not true, but I wasn’t just going to tell my mom about James Latimer. No way. And then, my mother said something that made David fall to the floor in ecstasy.
“Sam, are you a…a lesbian?” She said it in a harsh whisper, her ever-present smile faded to a slightly up-turned line. David was hiccupping as I gave my answer. “No mom, I am not a lesbian. Shuttup, David. I just don’t know anyone of interest right now. And you know how I feel about school dances, Ma. They are a device made solely for the purpose of taking away creativity and making young women stress over their bodies, as well as making us listen to horrible music.” That last part I’ve said so many times that my dad mouthed it along with me. It’s total crap, but it’s an extra excuse. My mother perked up, relieved that I was not a lesbian, and began to clear the plates.
“First of all, darling, ladies do not tell their brothers to shut up. Nor do they call me ‘ma’, which I will not tolerate. And this is your last one. You are going. Now, who wants pie?” As I opened my mouth to reply, my protest turned into a request for pie, which was actually very good. After dinner, I retreated to my room to watch Donny Darko on my I-Pod, and chat to Miranda. She squealed when she heard that I was finally coming to a school dance.
“Not willingly,” I pointed out, but that didn’t seem to matter to her. She was rattling off boys that I could take when I stopped her and said, “Miranda, I hope you know that there is no way that I am going to prom. Plus, I am too busy not caring to go.” I cold almost hear her anger over the phone. To Miranda, the only thing more important than school dances is her boyfriend Jim. And me. But if I don’t go to our last prom, it’ll be letting her down. However, if I do go, I’ll be standing there while they make out in a corner. So the answer is no. And there was no way in hell I was getting a dress for a dance I wasn’t attending.
Which is why I was standing in the dress department three days later, while my mother gleefully paraded around, announcing to all who would listen(and some who wouldn’t), that I was going to prom.
I have more, but i'd like to see how this goes over before i post! THANKS!!!!!