My life as a loser in High School.

I stood outside on my lawn frowning at the two removal men who were currently loading their van with my possessions. The older of the two looked a little on the heavy side and his expression suggested he was going to have a heart attack sometime soon. I clicked my tongue irritated, and fished a pink nail file from my back pocket. Hey, if everything else in my life was out of my control the least I could do was make sure my fake talons were smooth and had a soft edge to them.

My blue eyes flickered to the designer suit clad woman who happened to be my Mother. “Here, Brie, honey. Take this box, would you?” She asked not waiting for a response. “Those two are bloody useless!” She hissed under her breath casting her eyes for a moment on the two men. They remained oblivious to her obvious insult and carried on arguing over who was going to lift the heavy end of the couch. There isn’t even a heavy end. I’m no genius but I’m pretty sure it weighs the same no matter where you lift it.

I rolled my eyes in response and my Mums face cracked into a slight smile. It looked a hell of a lot better than those stress lines that were beginning to form on the top of her head that was for sure. “Thanks honey.” She replied gratefully as I took the box labelled ‘Kitchen Utensils’ from her hands. “Only a couple more rooms then we are good to go!”

“I don’t want to go!” I whined suddenly, startling her. She rolled her light hazel eyes and ran her hand through her blond hair.

“Brie, we’ve been through this. It’s for the best. Besides, there’s not a lot I can do now; the house is already sold.”

“But... But!” I begged desperately, trying to think of a good reason that we can’t destroy our lives.

“Just think of it as an adventure...” She said softly trying to soothe me.

“Mum, I’m sixteen, not five.” I stated putting the box down only so I could put my hand on my hip and she could receive the full effects of Brianna’s Temper Tantrum NO 327.

“Stop acting like a five year old then,” She snapped back clearly annoyed.

“But Mum...” I moaned.

“Listen! It’s been done now. I can’t change it, I’m sorry. But, just think, you’ll have a new home, new school, new friends-“

“I like my old friends.” I huffed, feeling my bottom lip shape into a pout.

It was only two days ago my ‘old’ friends had thrown me a farewell party. I tried alcohol for the first time and although I didn’t really like it, I felt grown up. I felt popular. Now all that was going to get taken away because the one parent I had left decided to get a new job.

I suddenly felt that one parent wrap her arms around me. “I’m sorry, Brie. I really am.” She mumbled into my own blonde hair. She was a lot taller than me when she wore heels. I breathed in her familiar scent; Chanel perfume and mint chewing gum.

“It’s okay,” I muttered, immediately ashamed of my behaviour. She smiled at me once more and kissed the top of my head. I quickly wiped it away with the back of my hand; not because I think my Mother kissing me is gross, but because I didn’t want a lipstick print on my fore head for the rest of the day. She chuckled under her breath and ruffled my hair before heading off to find the removal men, so she could shout at them.

I picked up the box yet again and headed towards the car. I strapped myself into the passenger seat preparing myself for our ‘adventure’ as my deluded Mother put it.

Every body has a story. I’m no different. I’m not claiming to be anybody important or special. Hell, you don’t even have to read it if you don’t want to.

You could wait a few years until I’ve sold it to a big shot Hollywood director who will add a lot more drama and sass into my life story. There will be a big, curvy blonde woman playing me and she will be ten times better looking than me and ooze sex appeal. My Prince Charming would be the love child of Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom. But, you know, because they’re both male it’s never going to happen.

And I highly doubt Spielberg will be phoning me up anytime soon.

Anyway, moving on from that lovely little daydream. This is the real world. Every story has a beginning, middle and ending.

When does the beginning, well actually begin? I thought back to when we were getting taught religion. When does life begin, the teacher asked us. Is it when the egg is fertilised with the sperm? Is it when the foetus begins to grow little fingers and responds to the parents cooing at the mother’s stomach all the time? Or is it when the baby is actually pushed out into this big, bad world? How the hell where we suppose to know?

So, when does my story begin? Is it when I’m two years old and accidently ate a tub of play doe? Is it when I was pretending to be a power ranger and kicked myself in the head? Did my story start when I was still young enough to wear big, black, shiny shoes with plastic flowers on and did hand stands whilst showing the world my pink frilly knickers.

No. I’ve decided my story is going to start here; in the car whilst waiting for my dear mother to hurry up so we can embark on our new “adventure.”

Next in the story is the setting. Now, I don’t know why I’m explaining this as the setting is going to change pretty soon. Right now my story is set outside my beautiful house with the five bedrooms which me and my friends spent plenty of time camping in. The neighbour hood was friendly and there was always some kind, lonely old woman who would pay you to come listen to her tell tales of the ancient times (A.K.A when she was a child.)

The place where we’re moving to isn’t so nice. Just last week I read in the paper of someone who got stabbed around that area. Some place near London. I swear it still has rats running around the streets but when I mentioned this to my mother she simply rolled her eyes and told me that the pied piper had taken care of the rats. I don’t know where she got that from as I’ve heard the pied piper did his thing in Hamelin and the last time I checked it was in Germany. Have I mentioned she treats me like I’m five?

Now, finally the characters. You’ve already met my mum, beautiful workaholic. There isn’t a Prince Charming yet, but hey, maybe I might meet someone at this school. As amazing as St Marks was, it kinder sucked going to an all girl’s school.

Suddenly the car door opened, startling me. I glanced up to see my Mother smiling at me nervously. “Ready?” She questioned, adjusting her rear view mirror.

“I suppose,” I sighed winding down the car window. I stuck my head out just as my mum put her foot on the pedal. “Goodbye house!” I screamed making some old ladies shriek in shock and tut. I stuck my tongue out at them and my mum giggled quietly.

“Brie...” she whispered softly shaking her head.

“Goodbye St Marks! Goodbye tree! Goodbye Park!” I quickly pulled my head back into the car before my hair received that wind swept look. “Goodbye happiness.” I mumbled under breath.

And the main character in this story? Well, that would be your darling narrator; moi, Brianna Louise Munroe. But you can call me Brie.