Status: new =D
Enthusiast
Chapter 1
“ARIELLA SKYLAR DANIELS, GET DOWNSTAIRS THIS INSTANT YOUNG LADY!” Moaning, I sat up in bed, mentally cursing my alarm clock for not going off. My feet seemed to have minds of their own as they sluggishly dragged me downstairs, slipping on the steps every once in a while.
“You called?” I muttered flatly, looking up at my stepfather. Jonathan hadn’t changed much over the years, only adding a few wrinkles on his forehead and around his mouth from excessive frowning. His stoic expression remained the same as he pointed toward the clock. Against my will, my eyes grew wide as I realized I had only about twenty minutes to get ready for school, make breakfast for Jonathan and my stepsiblings, and to pack Jonathan’s briefcase for work. Darn alarm clock making me late!
I know what you’re thinking. Wait, these are your family, so why are they treating you like their slave? Well, the reality of it is, not all marriages go as planned. And the sad part is, I knew my mom’s and Jonathan’s relationship was doomed the minute they started dating when I was six years old. And then, after my mother . . . died, everything went tumbling downhill, getting caught in thorn bushes and smacking the ground hard.
I sprinted back up the stairs into my bedroom, put on the first clothes I could get my hands on, and threw my hair into a messy bun. When I got back downstairs, my twin stepdevils, Lucas and Lacey, were sitting at the kitchen table, reading magazines – Lucas was turning the page of Sports Illustrated, while Lacey was engulfed in a ”juicy” story about some divorced celebrity in People. Both of them looked like royalty, with their perfectly sculpted faces and designer jeans. Their blond hair was neatly combed, and their clothes dry cleaned and pressed. Even the way they carried themselves showed that they were wealthy and powerful, able to control your social status with a flip of their perfectly tanned wrists. Sighing, I turned to the refrigerator and grabbed the eggs.
“Scrambled with orange juice on the side, pronto.” Lacey ordered in her preppy cheerleader voice, not looking up from her precious magazine.
“Sunny side up with sausages and a glass of milk.” Lucas stood up and walked to the living room, turning on the TV. “Oh, and Dad said he only wants coffee today. Two sugars with half and half.” He planted himself down on the couch, watching the recap of last night’s football game. His eyes were glued to the screen, as if he would die if he turned away.
“Whatever you say, o great ones.” I murmured under my breath as I turned on the stove and snatched a pan that was hanging over the island in the kitchen.
Ten minutes later, I had their breakfast laid on the table, ignoring their sneering faces and nasty comments about how dry the food was, or the questions about why it took me so long to cook. I turned the other cheek and made my way towards Jonathan’s office to fix his briefcase. Creaking open the door, I slipped inside and flicked the light switch. The familiar white four walls that used to be my real father’s study enclosed me, and I felt peace for about three seconds before I remembered why I was there. Grabbing his black leather case, I stuffed his manila folders, pens, and other necessities he would need at the law firm into it. When I was done, it was two minutes past the time I was supposed to leave.
Aw, crap. I thought. Glancing around the room once more, I left Jonathan’s briefcase on his desk, and ran into the kitchen. The dishes were left on the table, and I heard the distant rumble of Lucas’s silver Mercedes outside. Taking a deep breath, I calmed myself down and snatched the plates.
“Spoiled brats . . . can’t even wash their own dishes.” I huffed while I rinsed. Wiping my hands on my jeans, I sprinted towards the garage, grabbed my backpack and skateboard, and skated down the familiar path to school. The frosty winter wind nipped at my cheeks, and I regretted not wearing a thicker jacket. Checking my watch, I saw that it was 7:17, three minutes before I had to be in homeroom. I skated faster, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline as the wind hit my face and blew my dark hair back. I was at the school five minutes after the first bell rang, meaning I was late to homeroom, yet again.
“You called?” I muttered flatly, looking up at my stepfather. Jonathan hadn’t changed much over the years, only adding a few wrinkles on his forehead and around his mouth from excessive frowning. His stoic expression remained the same as he pointed toward the clock. Against my will, my eyes grew wide as I realized I had only about twenty minutes to get ready for school, make breakfast for Jonathan and my stepsiblings, and to pack Jonathan’s briefcase for work. Darn alarm clock making me late!
I know what you’re thinking. Wait, these are your family, so why are they treating you like their slave? Well, the reality of it is, not all marriages go as planned. And the sad part is, I knew my mom’s and Jonathan’s relationship was doomed the minute they started dating when I was six years old. And then, after my mother . . . died, everything went tumbling downhill, getting caught in thorn bushes and smacking the ground hard.
I sprinted back up the stairs into my bedroom, put on the first clothes I could get my hands on, and threw my hair into a messy bun. When I got back downstairs, my twin stepdevils, Lucas and Lacey, were sitting at the kitchen table, reading magazines – Lucas was turning the page of Sports Illustrated, while Lacey was engulfed in a ”juicy” story about some divorced celebrity in People. Both of them looked like royalty, with their perfectly sculpted faces and designer jeans. Their blond hair was neatly combed, and their clothes dry cleaned and pressed. Even the way they carried themselves showed that they were wealthy and powerful, able to control your social status with a flip of their perfectly tanned wrists. Sighing, I turned to the refrigerator and grabbed the eggs.
“Scrambled with orange juice on the side, pronto.” Lacey ordered in her preppy cheerleader voice, not looking up from her precious magazine.
“Sunny side up with sausages and a glass of milk.” Lucas stood up and walked to the living room, turning on the TV. “Oh, and Dad said he only wants coffee today. Two sugars with half and half.” He planted himself down on the couch, watching the recap of last night’s football game. His eyes were glued to the screen, as if he would die if he turned away.
“Whatever you say, o great ones.” I murmured under my breath as I turned on the stove and snatched a pan that was hanging over the island in the kitchen.
Ten minutes later, I had their breakfast laid on the table, ignoring their sneering faces and nasty comments about how dry the food was, or the questions about why it took me so long to cook. I turned the other cheek and made my way towards Jonathan’s office to fix his briefcase. Creaking open the door, I slipped inside and flicked the light switch. The familiar white four walls that used to be my real father’s study enclosed me, and I felt peace for about three seconds before I remembered why I was there. Grabbing his black leather case, I stuffed his manila folders, pens, and other necessities he would need at the law firm into it. When I was done, it was two minutes past the time I was supposed to leave.
Aw, crap. I thought. Glancing around the room once more, I left Jonathan’s briefcase on his desk, and ran into the kitchen. The dishes were left on the table, and I heard the distant rumble of Lucas’s silver Mercedes outside. Taking a deep breath, I calmed myself down and snatched the plates.
“Spoiled brats . . . can’t even wash their own dishes.” I huffed while I rinsed. Wiping my hands on my jeans, I sprinted towards the garage, grabbed my backpack and skateboard, and skated down the familiar path to school. The frosty winter wind nipped at my cheeks, and I regretted not wearing a thicker jacket. Checking my watch, I saw that it was 7:17, three minutes before I had to be in homeroom. I skated faster, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline as the wind hit my face and blew my dark hair back. I was at the school five minutes after the first bell rang, meaning I was late to homeroom, yet again.
♠ ♠ ♠
wheee!! comments make me smiley face! :)