My Story

"Sofea! COme on! We're gonna be late for dinner!"

"Ok fine! Just a sec! My sandals are falling off! I told you they were too loose! Betrice! Stop pulling me!"

"Forget those sandals! Come on!"

"Fine! I SAID STOP PULLING ME!!"

I snatch my hand away from Betrice and her mighty tugging machine of an arm and bend down to adjust my sandals.

"HURRY!! WE'LL BE LATE!" Betrice calls frantically from a distance.

"ARRGGH," I groan as i rush after my panicking older sister.

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“So, my careless little Sofie, how was your day? Did you have a good time with the housewives? You didn’t quarrel with your sister again, did you?” Dad’s eyebrows knit together in concern.

“No, Dad. And it was alright. I guess. As alright as sewing can be,” I picked glumly at the food.

Have i mention how much i hate the name 'careless little Sofie'? it sounds so... Icky. But whatever. I can't complain. Much. Right? Stale potatoes again. Boring.

“Aww come on. It’s really alright if you get the hang of it. Just a few more practices and you’ll be as good as your sister.”

Ha. Right.

Dad's trying to console me. It isn’t working, and he knows it. He and I know full well the ‘few more practices’ mean another month of daily trips to the housewives in the village to learn how to sew. The last time he had said ‘a few more practices’, I pricked my fingers 1573 times, and as for the end result, well, let's just say even a duck could sew better than me.

“But Dad, you know sewing isn't my type!"

I whine and put my best puppy face, trying to persuade him to let me off.

It doesn't work. But hey, at least i tried, right?

"You know full well, young lady, that if you want me to let you continue your reading of those.. those.." Dad shudders at the thought of saying that dreaded word, "books.

"But dad-"

"No buts, young lady. You'll do as i say." Dad fixes a stern eye at me.

I sigh in resignation. A good person knows when he has lost.

Dad isn't being mean, he's just, concerned. Mum died when i was three. She was trampled to death by a horse while she was reading a book. Cliche, i know. Thus, as a result, since dear Dad doesn't want the same thing happening to me, he tries to stop me from books. Not that it works most of the time anyway. But still. I heave another sigh and went back to eating those tasteless stale potatoes.

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"Hey,"

I plop down next to Eylan by the old oak as usual.

" Wotcha' reading?"

"Huh? Oh hi." Eylan barely glances at me before he returns his green eyes promptly to the thick book in front of him.

"What the heck are you reading? Is it really that interesting?"

I crane my neck to see the title of the book.

"THE LIFE CYCLE OF THE GIANT BEETLE?!" I exclaim incredulously "No way! And um.." I cock my head curiously, "why are you reading it upside-down?"

"Oh really? Oh. Um."

He quickly flips the book the right way up and ignores me again, a faint pink tinge staining his ears.

Even my funny faces don't work. Not even the goldfish-cum-monkey-cum-horned-bear one.

Weird.

He never does that usually. Don't think he ever did. Until the past month, that is.

Wonder what's wrong..

Hmm..

"Hey, mister, are you okay? You haven't been seeming..erm...yourself, lately. Is everything alright?" I wave my hand up and down furiously in front of his face. He doesn't seem to see me.

Or hear me, for that matter.

Well.

I can fix that.

I snatch that stupid boring book out of his hands and glare at him.

"I said," I speak slowly, deliberately, "ARE YOU OKAY?!!?!" That last part was a yell.

"Huh? What?"

Elyan's eyes slowly came into focus. Then he suddenly turns them away from my face. Weirdo.

"Ya I'm fine. Perfectly fine."

He scrambles hurriedly to his feet.

"I- Uh.. Er.. Look, I've got to go. Father needs me. Um.. I'll see you around. Later."

He's gone.

What?

Weird. I wonder what's gotten into him. Ah well. Must be one of his bad mood days. He's probably PMSing or something.

I shrug of the weirdness of today's encounter and fish out my book.

Chapter 17: The fight.

Hmm... Might be interesting..

You never know.

I settle down to read.