Status: Just starting, bare with me! =)
Double Vision
Chapter 2
"Emma, get up sweetie," my mother greeted as she shook me awake.
Waking up, I gathered my thoughts and realized just how dark my room really was. I moaned and rolled over enough on my bed, cracked an eye, and read the clock that said 5:14AM.
I am puzzled as she opened the maroon curtains to the tiny window near the ceiling, and even more frazzled when I didn't see any sun.
What the hell is going on?
"Mo-om!" I grumbled, hoping I could get another hour or two of sleep, considering last night was so eventful. I was so tired, finally crawling into bed the night before sometime past one. I recall hiding the bag of green in a shoebox labeled Converse, under two layers of tissue paper and shoved to the back of my closet.
"C'mon, you need to get ready." she said, getting slightly annoyed at my slow pace.
"For what?" I hollered, my voice cracking in its odd way.
"First day of school. I'm sick of you skipping Emma," she stated. "Every year you don't go, but I think by Sophomore year you should."
"I don't wanna," I said, sitting up in my bed and not really caring how messed up my hair was, or how bad my breath smelled from only three mere hours of sleep.
She walked over to my closet, turned on the light and picked out a 'nice' pale pink dress shirt and got out the ironing board on the top shelf. Everytime she grabs it, I always hope it will fall on her, but I'm not that lucky.
"I don't give a frig what you wanna do," she said, her entire mood switching in her bipolar way. "Get up, now."
"Damn, Mom, I'm fifteen," I snapped, stating the obvious. "I get my own clothes."
"You are perfectly capable of picking your own clothes, but I actually want you to look somewhat human," she insulted me, ironing the pink shirt she knows I hate so much.
"God! Why couldn't I just sleep til six like everyone else in the world?" I questioned.
"Two reasons Emma," she said finally finished ironing the awful pink shirt. "One, because I'm going to transform you into a sweet, polite young woman. I don't want a repeat of last year."
Why does she always have to bring that one up? One year. One year I messed up. Lots of kids get suspended. It was one time.
"Greeaaat," I said sarcastically. "Then what's the other reason?"
"Two," she said a smirk erupting on her perfect face. "You're not like everyone else."
After lots of bickering, slapping, whining, hot iron burns, mascara in my eyes, and four wardrobe changes, Mom and I, or should I say Mom, finally settle on the 'perfect' look.
She stuffed me in a tight orange blouse, because she claimed the pink one made me look chunky. You know, usually it's the other way around, but Mom just loves to play role playing with me.
She quickly whipped up some toast with strawberry jelly and cereal, (I know she went all out) and before I knew it, I was on my way to my first day of sophomore year.
Whoopty-freakin'-do.
Waking up, I gathered my thoughts and realized just how dark my room really was. I moaned and rolled over enough on my bed, cracked an eye, and read the clock that said 5:14AM.
I am puzzled as she opened the maroon curtains to the tiny window near the ceiling, and even more frazzled when I didn't see any sun.
What the hell is going on?
"Mo-om!" I grumbled, hoping I could get another hour or two of sleep, considering last night was so eventful. I was so tired, finally crawling into bed the night before sometime past one. I recall hiding the bag of green in a shoebox labeled Converse, under two layers of tissue paper and shoved to the back of my closet.
"C'mon, you need to get ready." she said, getting slightly annoyed at my slow pace.
"For what?" I hollered, my voice cracking in its odd way.
"First day of school. I'm sick of you skipping Emma," she stated. "Every year you don't go, but I think by Sophomore year you should."
"I don't wanna," I said, sitting up in my bed and not really caring how messed up my hair was, or how bad my breath smelled from only three mere hours of sleep.
She walked over to my closet, turned on the light and picked out a 'nice' pale pink dress shirt and got out the ironing board on the top shelf. Everytime she grabs it, I always hope it will fall on her, but I'm not that lucky.
"I don't give a frig what you wanna do," she said, her entire mood switching in her bipolar way. "Get up, now."
"Damn, Mom, I'm fifteen," I snapped, stating the obvious. "I get my own clothes."
"You are perfectly capable of picking your own clothes, but I actually want you to look somewhat human," she insulted me, ironing the pink shirt she knows I hate so much.
"God! Why couldn't I just sleep til six like everyone else in the world?" I questioned.
"Two reasons Emma," she said finally finished ironing the awful pink shirt. "One, because I'm going to transform you into a sweet, polite young woman. I don't want a repeat of last year."
Why does she always have to bring that one up? One year. One year I messed up. Lots of kids get suspended. It was one time.
"Greeaaat," I said sarcastically. "Then what's the other reason?"
"Two," she said a smirk erupting on her perfect face. "You're not like everyone else."
After lots of bickering, slapping, whining, hot iron burns, mascara in my eyes, and four wardrobe changes, Mom and I, or should I say Mom, finally settle on the 'perfect' look.
She stuffed me in a tight orange blouse, because she claimed the pink one made me look chunky. You know, usually it's the other way around, but Mom just loves to play role playing with me.
She quickly whipped up some toast with strawberry jelly and cereal, (I know she went all out) and before I knew it, I was on my way to my first day of sophomore year.
Whoopty-freakin'-do.
♠ ♠ ♠
I know it's been a while, but what do you think? :)