*BubblyWeirdo* asked:


My friends say it does, but I think it has too little detail. Please help me.

Chapter one

“Now Tara, I don’t want to hear any bad news from Ma, while you’re staying with her. Understand?” Tara’s mother, Tasha warned, her ebony skin glowing in the bright sun. She stood tall in black high heels; she wore a pin striped navy blue business suit, her diamond studded brooch was clipped gracefully on the left collar of her blazer. Being the CEO of an advertisement company was very high status, and she loved showing off her importance.

“Yes Mother, I understand.” Tara replied monotonously, while picking the dirt from her bitten down nails. She never even gave her mother a second thought. Her back-pack was slung lazily over her shoulder, and she loosely held the handle of her roll-away luggage.
They both stood in front of the airport shuttle van pick up site, waiting patiently for a van to show. Today was the day Tara, was to leave to go live with her Grandmother Cassandra, who stayed in a small town called Waterfall, Tennessee.

Tasha didn’t quite understand why her daughter wanted to live in such a small town, that literally consisted of only nine-hundred and eight people. But then again, Tasha didn’t understand her daughter. Tara was such a confusing child; her face was bland and expressionless, while her voice was sharp and sometimes lively.

“I hope you do. Ma agreed to take care of you for the school year, and it would be a shame if you gave her any trouble.” Tasha said.
“Yes, Mother.” Tara looked up from digging her nails, and stuck her hands in her pockets.
“Theresa Marie Peers, what are you are you wearing?” Tasha said appalled.
Tasha cringed at her daughter’s appearance. Tara looked as if she had just gotten out of bed: hair tied in a messy afro puff, dark elbows covered in ash, and she wore the unthinkable: sloppy…gray…sweatpants.
Why did I, let her leave the house today, Tasha thought, looking around to see if anyone had noticed her.
“Oh, calm down, Mom,” Tara said, “I look fine.”
“I most certainly will not calm down. You look a hot mess, and I thought I taught you better then to wear, sloppy sweats in public.”
“Hey, they’re comfortable,” Tara plopped herself down on the nearest bench and let out a yawn, “Plus I only had fifteen minutes to get ready before we left.” She’d crouched slightly in her seat, stretched out her legs and rested the back of her head onto her arms.
“You would’ve had more time, if you didn‘t stay up till three in the morning and wake up at two in the afternoon.” Tasha pointed out.
“Mother, I’m fourteen year old girl on summer break, what makes you think I’m not going to sleep till noon.” Tara stated. Tasha gave Tara a sour look.
“What?” Tara asked.

Tasha opened her mouth to speak, then closed back up when her phone rung, looking at the number, she’d quickly turned her back to Tara, and answered it.
“Hello, Tasha Peers speaking….ah, Ramona, it’s always a pleasure speaking with you.” She continued her conversation, while strutting slowly away from Tara .
Tara sighed contently. Finally a moment to myself, She thought, she’d closed her eyes peacefully and hummed a little tune, letting her mind wander slightly to Waterfall, Tennessee. A town that was only a five hour drive away, a town that only had four stop lights, a town that she hadn’t visited since she was eight, a town she was leaving her whole life for.
She didn’t exactly know why she wanted leave her life behind, the idea just came to her while watching The Young and the Restless and eating cereal out the box. Tasha was a little shocked, when Tara told her that she wanted to stay with her mother, Cassandra.
“W-W-Why,” Tasha had asked, “W-why Waterfall? Why Ma? Why now? Why?!” She banged her fist on the kitchen table. Tara had made the mistake of telling her mother during breakfast, before Tasha had her morning coffee, which wasn’t the smartest idea.
The whole family had their eyes on Tara.

Sexy Tuba asked:


Chapter 1 my role as fate:
It was 12:07 A.M. The sun was beating down but besides the heat it was near perfect weather. Unfortunately I couldn’t enjoy such a nice day. At least it wasn’t my last. The brief case felt slightly heavy in my hands. I walked up the the check in desk in the hotel lobby. Keeping the anxious feeling that plagued my mind inside I asked for a room?
“Alright Mr. Stevens you will be in room 3067 on floor 3, enjoy your stay and if you need anything at all feel free to call down.” I took my room key and stepped waited for the elevator to return to the 1st floor.

I didn’t have any luggage. I wasn’t staying the night. In fact I probably wouldn’t even be here for a whole hour. The door opened And I stepped in side. I slipped the credit card back into my pocket. This was a nice hotel. Not cheap and certainly not worth the money for less then an hour. However it wasn’t my money and it happened to be in the perfect location. My last name wasn’t Stevens either. It was just one of the many identities I could take up at a moments notice. A select few people actually know my real name. And they aren’t telling anyone. I walked down the overly adorned hallway to the door with the correct number on it. I unlocked it and stepped in being sure to place the do not disturb sign placed on the door handle. I unlatched the brief case to reveal a M24 sniper rifle. I began to feel the familiar sensation of loosing all emotions and just concentrating on the job at hand. I slid open the glass door that led out onto the balcony overlooking the street below. If all went according to plan this should be easy. Making sure everything was working properly on the rifle I crouched down and waited.

Ten minutes later a nice looking black car pulled up in front of the coffee shop down below. A man dressed in a Black pin-stripped suit stepped out of the car and sat down at one of the outside tables. I tensed up. Soon I would have to make the shot. A cup of coffee was brought to the mans table. Another man appeared. He was fat and slow he almost looked like a fat penguin when he walked. He was dressed in a white suit made with enough fabric to make a parachute. He sat down. This was my target. I took a deep breath and lined up the shot and pulled the trigger….

Always in Your Heart ♥ asked:


When life gives you lemons… make lemonade. That’s what my dad always tells me when I’m stuck in a crappy situation. But to be honest, I don’t think that advice will work this one out. It feels as if I’ve been given rotten lemons, with no juice left in them, and there is just no point in making lemonade anymore.
Only hours ago, I was packing for my summer vacation to France. Yes, France! You know, that country in Europe with the fashion capital of the world, and some of the most beautiful architecture ever created? Well anyways, I was happily packing away, minding my own business, when my dad knocks on my door. I was surprised by this because, to be honest, my dad and I never talk. He’s always busy on his laptop in his office, or he’s at work. It’s always one or the other.
“Come in.” I said, wondering what in the world was it that he wanted to tell me.
As soon as I saw the expression on his face, I knew it couldn’t be good. My dad always has one look on his face – plain, and bored. But at that moment, it was devastated. I wondered what on earth could have happened for my father to have been so sad. Millions of thoughts ran through my mind as I thought of all the possibilities. Did the fancy hotel that we were staying at in Paris burn down? Did our flight get cancelled? Turns out it was neither of those. It was much, much worse.
“We’re not going to France, Anna.” he said with the most stern look I had ever seen.
“What? W-w-why?” I asked, sadness sweeping over me.
“I got a call from my brother last night. He asked us to visit our homeland for the summer because my grandmother is very ill, this might be our last chance to see her. We‘re going to Ukraine tomorrow.”
My grandmother? Our homeland? Ukraine? I could not believe it. Moments ago, I was happily packing for France, and now I’ll be sadly packing for Ukraine? I know that I should have felt some sort of remorse for my great grandmother, maybe some guilt for not wanting to visit her, but I just couldn’t help but think how my birthday present which I had been planning for for months was ruined. This was not right. This was not what was supposed to happen. This was not the way my summer was going to turn out. No way, no how.
“But dad! You promised we’d go to France. We’ve been planning to go for months now, and it is a birthday present after all. Ukraine isn’t even my homeland. I know nothing about the place, or the people! We can’t go for the entire summer, we just can’t.” I said stubbornly, trying to fight back.
“Well then you can learn about the place and the people this summer. The decision is final, Anna. We’re going.”
And with those words, my summer flipped around faster than you could say “France no more!”.
The airport was crowded when we got there. People were whizzing by carrying huge amounts of luggage and suitcases. I wondered where they were all going to spend their summer vacation. Definitely not Ukraine. Some people wore sunhats and flip flops, as if they were ready to jump on to the beach in some tropic place like Hawaii at the very second. I’ll admit, I was jealous of them. My plain capris and t-shirt definitely did not show any excitement towards where I’m going. My dad is holding a book straight up to his face, as if avoiding eye contact with me. His bony face looks tense and distraught. His short chestnut hair stands up straight and I know that if it grew out a little bit more it will be just as wavy as mine. To be honest, I love my hair. It’s very long and wavy with a golden tint in it from my mom.
Another good thing about it is that it covers my chubby cheeks. I was “gifted” as my dad would say with permanent baby fat, just like my mom. My whole life everyone made fun of me because of it, but my dad says that they suit me. What a lie. I think that he said that because they remind him of my mom. She was a beautiful woman, and I will admit that chubby cheeks did suit her. The thing is, she died when I was only a few months old. It was in a car accident back in Ukraine. I think that’s why my dad decided to move to Canada in the first place – to forget the nightmare he lived through of my mom being gone. That’s also probably why we’ve never visited relatives back in our homeland. To be honest, my dad tries avoiding the country every chance he gets. But I guess this was just too much for him.

Buzz L asked:


A kiss from Mom and hug from Dad away before I get on the plane, I thought rolling my luggage behind me as we approached the boarding line. “Yes, I have everything, Mom.”
She seemed too busy to realize I had answered her but surprised me with replying back. “Great, well are you excited?”
“Preferably, no.”
Then dad stepped in, one hand extended toward me holding my ticket, “Why not? I’m sure everyone will like you.”
With a roll of my eyes I released one of the handles of my suit cases and took the ticket. “I have people who like me here,” I countered as I returned to toting the suit case at my heels, my fingers barely holding a grip on the small piece of paper.
“There are phones in California, don’t be afraid to call them up. Or us, don’t forget to call us,” Mom smiled elbowing me.
A part of me wanted to say, ‘I’d call if I thought you’d remember to pick up,’ but the civil part of me who didn’t want to start a fight minuets before we parted our own ways, grinned back.

Always in Your Heart ♥ asked:


When life gives you lemons… make lemonade. That’s what my dad always tells me when I’m stuck in a crappy situation. But to be honest, I don’t think that advice will work this one out. It feels as if I’ve been given rotten lemons, with no juice left in them, and there is just no point in making lemonade anymore.
Only hours ago, I was packing for my summer vacation to France. Yes, France! You know, that country in Europe with the fashion capital of the world, and some of the most beautiful architecture ever created? Well anyways, I was happily packing away, minding my own business, when my dad knocks on my door. I was surprised by this because, to be honest, my dad and I never talk. He’s always busy on his laptop in his office, or he’s at work. It’s always one or the other.
“Come in.” I said, wondering what in the world was it that he wanted to tell me.
As soon as I saw the expression on his face, I knew it couldn’t be good. My dad always has one look on his face – plain, and bored. But at that moment, it was devastated. I wondered what on earth could have happened for my father to have been so sad. Millions of thoughts ran through my mind as I thought of all the possibilities. Did the fancy hotel that we were staying at in Paris burn down? Did our flight get cancelled? Turns out it was neither of those. It was much, much worse.
“We’re not going to France, Anna.” he said with the most stern look I had ever seen.
“What? W-w-why?” I asked, sadness sweeping over me.
“I got a call from my brother last night. He asked us to visit our homeland for the summer because my grandmother is very ill, this might be our last chance to see her. We‘re going to Ukraine tomorrow.”
My grandmother? Our homeland? Ukraine? I could not believe it. Moments ago, I was happily packing for France, and now I’ll be sadly packing for Ukraine? I know that I should have felt some sort of remorse for my great grandmother, maybe some guilt for not wanting to visit her, but I just couldn’t help but think how my birthday present which I had been planning for for months was ruined. This was not right. This was not what was supposed to happen. This was not the way my summer was going to turn out. No way, no how.
“But dad! You promised we’d go to France. We’ve been planning to go for months now, and it is a birthday present after all. Ukraine isn’t even my homeland. I know nothing about the place, or the people! We can’t go for the entire summer, we just can’t.” I said stubbornly, trying to fight back.
“Well then you can learn about the place and the people this summer. The decision is final, Anna. We’re going.”
And with those words, my summer flipped around faster than you could say “France no more!”.
The airport was crowded when we got there. People were whizzing by carrying huge amounts of luggage and suitcases. I wondered where they were all going to spend their summer vacation. Definitely not Ukraine. Some people wore sunhats and flip flops, as if they were ready to jump on to the beach in some tropic place like Hawaii at the very second. I’ll admit, I was jealous of them. My plain capris and t-shirt definitely did not show any excitement towards where I’m going. My dad is holding a book straight up to his face, as if avoiding eye contact with me. His bony face looks tense and distraught. His short chestnut hair stands up straight and I know that if it grew out a little bit more it will be just as wavy as mine. To be honest, I love my hair. It’s very long and wavy with a golden tint in it from my mom.
Another good thing about it is that it covers my chubby cheeks. I was “gifted” as my dad would say with permanent baby fat, just like my mom. My whole life everyone made fun of me because of it, but my dad says that they suit me. What a lie. I think that he said that because they remind him of my mom. She was a beautiful woman, and I will admit that chubby cheeks did suit her. The thing is, she died when I was only a few months old. It was in a car accident back in Ukraine. I think that’s why my dad decided to move to Canada in the first place – to forget the nightmare he lived through of my mom being gone. That’s also probably why we’ve never visited relatives back in our homeland. To be honest, my dad tries avoiding the country every chance he gets. But I guess this was just too much for him.

Kate asked:

This is just the first little bit of a story I wrote. I want your honest opinion. Thanks!
~~~~~~
I grabbed my bag off the luggage carrier. This was my first cruise! I had turned 15 on Thursday, and this was my present. I was super excited. We had never really had enough money to do this kind of stuff before. We weren’t poor, but we weren’t rich, either. We were on the upper end of the middle class. But my dad said we were “on our way to rich.”
My mom, a lawyer, had recently closed a case in which she made a lot of money. A few months before that, my dad had struck it big when the stock prices rose.
I pulled up the handle on my luggage bag and began rolling it down the hallway. “221…” I muttered to myself, looking for our room. My parents were being slow getting their luggage, and I just simply couldn’t wait any longer. When I came upon room 221, I put the card key in the reader and the door clicked. I turned the handle and opened the door.
The room was beautiful! Tight, but beautiful. There was a small closet in the foyer. Past that, there was a queen size bed pushed up against the wall. At the foot of the bed and to the left, there was a television in the corner. At the head of the bed, there was a large mirror. Underneath the bed were drawers. To the left of the bed was a small vanity with another mirror.
In the next room over was a pale green sofa. Next the sofa were large glass double doors that peeked out onto the balcony. Across the room from the sofa was a door that led to the bathroom.
I guessed that my parents would be getting the bed and I would wind up on the sofa. I walked over to the sofa and plopped my bag down. I opened the curtains to the glass door to let some light in. It was beautiful! I walked out onto he balcony. There was a large blue pool on the deck, which I could see from my room. Surrounding the pool were many chairs, tables, and umbrellas. I breathed in a breath of the salty sea breeze. A light breeze blew my hair back from my face.
I heard my parents finally come in the room. I walked back inside.
“Isn’t it just beautiful!” I exclaimed.
“It’s cramped!” My mother sighed.
I frowned. “I like it…”
“Well, it’s your birthday present, dear, so as long as you like it, everything’s fine.” My father smiled as he gave me a big hug and kissed my forehead.
I smiled and hugged him back. “Thank you!”
My parents put their bags on the bed. “So who’s sleeping where?” My dad asked.
“You mean I get to pick?” I gasped, mock sarcasm laid thickly in my tone.
My father laughed. “No, but I thought I’d let you try anyway.”
I stuck my tongue out at him playfully. I went back over to what was now my room and grabbed my bag. I took it over to the small armoire and began putting my clothes in it and my shoes underneath it.
After everything was put away, I decided to go for a swim. I grabbed my bathing suit and went into the bathroom to change. I was wearing a purple plaid halter top bikini. I put my green shorts and a t-shirt for the walk down to the pool. I was about to sneak out when my dad caught me.
“Sunscreen!” He reminded me and tossed me a bottle.
I hated that stuff. It made your skin all shiny and icky. I knew he wasn’t going to let me leave until I put it on, so I went out onto the balcony and sprayed it on. I went back inside and tossed the bottle of sunscreen on the bed and darted out the door with my towel.
I took the elevator downstairs. The lobby was really beautiful. There were spiraling staircases going all the way to the top of the ship. There were several fancy chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
I wasn’t sure which way to go for the pool. I went over to the desk where we had checked in at. No one was at the desk. “Excuse me!” I said politely.
“What?” An apparently grumpy old lady came out from the room behind the desk.
“Where’s the pool?”
“Right out that door and to the left.” She pointed towards a door to the left of me.
“Thank you!” I said, walking towards the door.
“Mhmm.” The lady said, turning back to the room she had come from.
“God she was grumpy.” I muttered.
The pool was approximately 9 feet deep in the deepest part. There were about one hundred people crowded in and around the pool. I took off my shirt and shorts. I laid down on one of the white reclining chairs, trying to get a tan. I was Irish, so I was extremely pale. It was really hard for me to get a tan, because it takes a few days for me to get dark, because I burn so easily.
I could feel the sun burning my skin even though I was wearing sunscreen.
My stomach was starting to hurt because I was so hungry. I sighed. I had only been out here for like fifteen minutes. I stood up and grabbed my towel and clothes. I quickly spun around to go inside. I ran into a lifeguard.
“Sorry!” I exclaimed, looking up at him.
“No problem.” He said. He smiled at me and flipped his brown hair out of his green eyes.
I pulled my e
ooh, sorry !
it cut off some of it
~~~~~~~~
“Sorry!” I exclaimed, looking up at him.
“No problem.” He said. He smiled at me and flipped his brown hair out of his green eyes.
I pulled my eyes away from him. I walked away quickly. After a few feet, I glanced back. He was watching me, but quickly turned away after I saw him. I walked faster, certain that he was still watching me. I hopped in the elevator and rode it up to my floor.
I walked in my room. My mom had a nice dress on, and my father had a fancy tie on.
“Where are you two going?” I asked.
“Dinner!” My dad said, ecstatic.
“Perfect!” I replied.
I quickly changed into my white halter top dress, then went into the bathroom and let my hair down. I put on a bit of makeup, as this was apparently a formal dinner, then went back into the other room.
“Ready?” my mother asked.
I smiled. “Yep!”
When we got to the dining hall, we were led to a table near a large window which overlooked the water. The view was stunning. The sun was just starting to set over the water, and there were dolphins jumping playfully out of the water.
I was so entranced by the view that I was startled when our waiter arrived.
“Good evening, I’m Wesley. How are you all?” He asked. He was gorgeous. He had light blond hair that came down to his eyebrows. He had the most beautiful blue eyes. He looked to be just a few inches taller than me, and maybe a year older.
“Good.” My parents replied in unison.
I didn’t say anything.
“Amber, how was you evening?” My mother prompted.
I stuttered, trying to get the words out. “I-It.. It was good.”
‘Oh, God,’ I thought ‘I sounded like an idiot!’
Wesley smiled at me. I blushed and pretended to look at the menu.
“What would you all like to drink?” Wesley asked politely.
Both of my parents ordered some kind of drink whose name I didn’t catch; I just assumed it was an alcoholic beverage. I just got a water.
Wesley smiled and left to go get out drinks. I looked out the window again. Just in the five minutes I had looked away, it had already gotten a bit darker outside. The sky was a million different shades of red, bordered by purple clouds.
A few moments later I looked over to see Wesley exiting the kitchen with our drinks. He made his way over to our table. He handed my mom and dad their drinks, then got my water off the tray he was carrying and leaned over to hand it to me. Something happened; maybe he tripped, maybe his shirt got caught on something, but the glass tipped and water spilled all over me.
~~~~~~~~~~
that’s all im going to post here for now.
sorry about the messy formatting, some if it got lost when i copied it over ):

Sharon D asked:

Hi, I wrote this a while ago and don’t know what to do to make it better, I know its long and if you take the time I will really be very grateful x

2

“Here we go doll, 62nd street,”
As Eddie helps get my luggage out of the trunk, I can’t believe the sight I’m seeing. My new apartment block is unbelievable; a green velvet rug leads into the doorway, with a matching canopy overhead, while a posh looking man stands at the door. I have only seen this kind of things in movies, but now I’m here and it’s all real.

“Well here you go, enjoy your new life in fabulous New York City,” shouts Eddie.
“Thanks Eddie, give your ex wife my love,” I laugh.
“Ha ha good old English humor,” Eddie shouts out his cab window, as he drives away.

Just then as I’m looking around in astonishment, a man by the door walks up to me. He’s wearing a chauffeur hat, a smart looking suit and unbelievable shiny black shoes. I swear I could see my face in them if I looked down.
“Hi madam, I’m Maurice, I am the doorman and security for these apartments, would you like some help with your luggage?”
“Oh yes please, that would be great thank you sir,”.
“No problem, I might be a while,” Maurice says, while looking at my six massive cases. “That’s fine Maurice,” I say.

I could get used to this. They don’t have this kind of thing in England, where I am from; Cambridge. How cool would it be if you drove up to your house, and you had a doorman standing waiting to help with all your sale bags from a hard day shopping? Think about it, you could just go straight into the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of red wine, go back and sit on the sofa and just wave your hand in the direction to where you want your very own “Maurice” to put all your bags.

As I open the door to reception it’s like a palace. The same green velvet rug covers the whole space, over to the left is a large desk, which is all over marble and to the right is what looks like an expensive Persian rug with two large cream sofas. I really can’t believe this place, it looks better than my living room back home and its only reception!
As I approach the funny looking man at the desk, he’s on the telephone.
“Yes mum , I won’t be out late , listen, I gotta go , I have a resident to attend to , yes mum , ok love you too,”
He puts the phone down, and I try, unsuccessfully, not to laugh.
“Oh that was my mum, she just eh worry’s about my uhm… cats, if I’m out all night partying you know about them getting fed and stuff …. I don’t live at home still!” he says, with a tone I know means he is still living at home.

“Ah ok. Anyway I’m Sophie Smith, I’ve just moved here, and I’m renting out apartment 225,” I say still slightly laughing.
“Ah Sophie, lovely to meet you, how was your flight, I’m Eugene, ”
Eugene I think to myself, I should have known that. He looks like a Eugene; you know tall, blonde, glasses as thick as milk bottle bottoms, and I can’t believe what he’s wearing. A checked shirt with braces and fawn old man trousers.
“Eh yes my flight was fine thanks, do you have my key?”
He is looking at me like I’m a complete ***** but to be honest I’m just too stunned, by the way, he’s dressed to say anything else.

Just as I’m about to walk to the lift, I hear a bang, I look around to see poor old Maurice trying to navigate himself and my heavy cases through the door. The poor man maybe I should go help? Nah not this time I mean I have never had this doorman experience before and after all it is his job, he will probably be offended if I ask him if he needs help.

I get in the lift which is bigger than my old box room, and push the number four button. Ding, the doors open and there are just rows and rows of doors and green velvet carpet. I start to walk looking at the doors as I look for my number; finally I find my door, three doors from the end of the hallway. I put my key in the keyhole and turn.

“WOW”. There is a large hallway before I even get into the living area. On the right of the wall is a couple of expensive looking art pieces, I think they are expensive; I mean I have never really been an art lover. On the left are three doors. I look in the first, which is a large bedroom. It’s gorgeous; there is a four poster bed straight ahead and behind it a large window with absolute stunning cream curtains. I then go out and head for door number two, it’s a bathroom with the biggest bath I have ever seen and two sinks, why two sinks? Maybe one is for washing and the other is for brushing your teeth, maybe that’s how they do it here in New York. The toilet pan is gold , well not real gold but gold in color , I hope it’s not real gold if it is I will be scared to use it

Ok time for door number three , I feel like I’m on Blind Date , it’s an old program back home where you sit behind a screen and choose a date from mystery men numbered one to three.
I can’t believe it, it’s another bedroom, a lot smaller but with no bed, what am I going to use it for? Maybe just a big massive walk in wardrobe that would be useful.

I come out and close the door feeling pleased with myself, that I’m already feeling at home. I walk down the hall and enter a large open plan living room and kitchen. I don’t even notice the kitchen at first because to be honest I don’t really like kitchens, I’m not much of a cook, believe it or not.

Straight ahead, past the big chocolate brown corner suite and the big plasma on the wall is a large bay window which opens out onto a balcony. I go out onto the balcony and the sight takes my breath away, CENTRAL PARK! How did I not notice that down at the door?

C asked:

I’m just starting on a story, and I would like to see what people think of it. If you have any tips, contructive critisicm, ect, I would be more than happy to hear. And be honest! Thanks!
“”"Some girl’s long for attention. I, however, was not one of those girls. So when I walk into the Grand Hall of my new “home away from home,” Barrington Academy, and see a room full of guys go silent and watch me as I make my way to the administrative office across the room, my first reaction was to turn around and run. Of course, I couldn’t do that without looking like an idiot, so I chose option number two. Keep walking. Don’t make eye contact. I tried my best to walk with confidence and poise. Well, as much confidence and poise a girl could have when carrying a duffle bag and rolling two suitcases. I was struggling.
The Grand Hall was true to its name. It was huge, and right then I hated that fact. The room was filled with tables, couches, and chairs; and as I passed by a different group of boys, their reaction was the same. Silent and staring hard at me, like I was some kind of alien to them. If this would have been a room full of girls, most of them would be filling each other in on how their summer had been. But the looks on the guys’ faces and the change in the school from being all an all boys’ boarding school to coed told me summer memories were the last thing on the guys’ mind.
Why had my mother forced me to go to Boarding School? More importantly, why did she drop me off at the door, and then leave me to fend for myself? Granted, I was sixteen, but still! My mother was too preoccupied with her job as a publicist to worry about me. That’s the way things had always been. But until last year, my dad had always been around to do the things mom was too busy to worry about. I pushed that thought aside, knowing I couldn’t think about that.
As I opened the door to what I hoped was the administrative office, I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Closing the door behind, I could feel the eyes still on me. “Good morning!” a lady in a black suit said to me in a sing-song voice. I smiled awkwardly and dropped my bags onto the floor. The administrative office was small, with a dark cedar counter that separated me from the woman, and one dark cedar desk with a computer and phone in the back corner of the room. “Oh dear, you poor child. Carrying all of that luggage yourself. When you go to your room, we’ll have one of the boys help you.” Oh, goody. “I’m Mrs. Porter, student counselor. You can come to me with any questions you have. What’s your name?” she asked while looking at a sheet of names. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and I couldn’t help but think that she looked much older than she probably was.
“Eleanor Roberts” I replied. She looked at the list through her reading glasses then nodded her head.
“Yes, Eleanor Roberts, 15A,” she read on the paper. “You’re roommates should be already up there. Eager to meet you I’m sure!” She handed me a folder, and went over the schedule the rest of the day. I didn’t bother telling her I had already memorized the schedule for the day as well as the schedule for all of my classes. I figured most students didn’t normally do that before classes started. “Stay here, Eleanor, I’ll be right back,” she said as she opened the office door to the Grand Hall. I could see her walking towards a group of boys, and I faintly heard her talking. “Mr. Walker, come help this young lady with her bags, please,” she said as she pointed to the office. Through the office blinds and the window open to the Grand Hall, I couldn’t make out which boy she was talking to. I was still looking through the blinds when I heard Mrs. Porter come back into the office. I jumped away from the blinds and ran straight into someone behind me.
“Sorry,” I say turning around to see a guy, who I assumed was the Mr. Walker Mrs. Porter had been talking to. He didn’t say anything as we stared at each other for what felt like minutes. His brown hair hit just at the nape of his neck, and his blue eyes didn’t look away from mine. A shiver ran up my spine, and I felt my cheeks redden.

{{ s i l v e r }} eριcαяιcαcу ♥ asked:

It’s the first chapter to my cousin Layton’s story, Innocence is Bliss. She’s almost 14.
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CHAPTER ONE

“Mademoiselle Reid?”

My attention was drawn away from the weight of my luggage to the suited man standing beside the midnight Cadillac before me.

“That’s me,” I said, bewildered. Who the hell was this greying old man and how did he know my name?

“Ah, I’ll take those,” he gestured to my bags, but as he approached me I clung tighter to my suitcases. He took my confused expression as cause to explain.

“I’m Gaston Rousseau, your mother’s chauffeur.” His voice was thick, and his French accent was heavy.

I had known I was going to be picked up from the airport, but I’d expected it to be by my mother in her rusty, peeling, crimson V W Beetle that I remembered from my childhood. I guess times had changed. But honestly – chauffeur? What was this – Gossip Girl?

He held his hand out to me and I reluctantly let go of my bags to shake it. His grip was like that of a limp lettuce. I stood silently watching as he put my bags into the trunk of the car and then opened the door for me.

“Thank you,” I said as I slid in. He appeared shocked, as if he wasn’t used to that kind of treatment. I had to admit, I wasn’t used to this sort of treatment either. People carrying my bags and opening my doors with no expectations of gratitude. Another thing I wasn’t used to was being called “Mademoiselle Reid”. Back home, I was just plain Alexis, or “that weird girl who spends her lunch hour in the library”.

The Cadillac was surprising, to say the least. It was spacious – longer than an SUV but shorter than a limousine – and the beige-brown interior, though displeasing to the eye, was more than comfortable. As Gaston put the key in the ignition, I noticed a built-in cooler and a small head-rest television screen.

Despite the cushioned seating, I felt uncomfortable alone in the back of the car. Gaston didn’t appear to bother by the silence, but broke it upon taking a look at my face in the rear-view mirror.

“Madame Tyler is delighted to have you staying with her.”

I noticed how he said “staying”, rather than “living”. It looked as if this wasn’t a permanent placement. And “Madame Tyler”? Things were certainly formal in this place. I had only ever heard my mother being referred to as two things: “Stellar Fashion’s creator, Stella-Marie” by the media, and “your mom” by Dad.

Dad.

Just thinking about him brought tears to my eyes. His death hadn’t exactly been unexpected; his cancer had been developing for over a year. I’d thought I was prepared, but as I watched him take his last breaths, I realised that you can never prepare for heartbreak. Then, as if the death wasn’t enough to deal with, I was being sent to live with my attention-whore of a mother who couldn’t give a damn about anything but her fashion career. She was more than happy to hand me over to Dad when they got their divorce, and she was only taking me in now because of the implications abandoning me would have on her image.

As I sat there, tears rolling down my cheeks, I silently wished for my best friend back in Canada – well, my only friend back in Canada – Ethan. I was sure he’d probably forgotten about me by now, even though I’d only left him this morning. I wasn’t the sort of person who was remembered when they left – in fact, people were probably eager to forget me. I was quiet, and most people were oblivious to my existence. Including my own mother.

Several minutes later, I dried my eyes and replied, “I’m delighted to be staying with her too”, but all that spilled out was sarcasm.

Gaston frowned momentarily, but soon regained his composure and his smile returned. He pulled up outside a white building.

“Nous sommes arrivés, Mademoiselle,”
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PLOT: After bookish, quiet pianist Alexis Emily Reid’s father dies from cancer, she is forced to move from working-class Canada to upper-class England to stay with her mother (who was more than happy to hand her over to her father when they divorced). At her new school, she quickly befriends Kara Christina Watson, a gorgeous popular girl, and begins to hang around with the popular crowd. Being the most beautiful girl in school, Kara has the most beautiful boyfriend. Enter the rather unpopular musician Edward James Schuyler, with whom both Kara and Alexis are smitten. Alexis – or Lexi, as she is called by her new friends – is not used to the popular life, but manages to progress relatively well. As time goes by, she becomes increasingly close to Ed, who helps her with her entry for the London Young Musician of the Year Award. At a party, she drinks a little bit too much and shares an intimate moment with Ed. Kara walks in on them, and freaks out. Suddenly, Alexis goes from being popular to hated and even ends up pushing Ed away. With everything spiralling downwards, she realises she can no longer block out the bad thin
NOTE: I was referring more to the writing, not the plot. She’s only 13. She just wants to know how fluid her prose & grammar is.

hello asked:

Or does it bore you?

I had always been a suburban girl, so the notion of packing my few belongings in a pair of ruddy, ancient suitcases and moving to the country seems preposterous. But a marriage and subsequent divorce are also ludicrous ideas to me, yet here I am, holding the papers, the ink still wet out of the printer. `
Donny is adamantly opposed to the move, but I don’t believe that this is out of any lingering attachment to me, but rather result of an ardent concern for my psychological welfare. I can’t honestly tell whether or not his consternation is warranted. I know I have romantic notions of what rural living is like, but as my carefully constructed life bends out of shape, I find that I am willing to wager on this idealized vision.
Mom calls me a day before the move, begging me to take a breather. “If you just reconcile your thoughts,” she pleads, “if you calm yourself for a moment, you may find that taking such a drastic step isn’t a necessary part of the recovery process.”
What an odd choice of words, “Calm down” are. Mother makes it sound like I’m frantic or capricious, when really, I couldn’t be more relaxed in my life. The whole span of my marriage was one deep state of relaxation, which quickly becomes an equivalent to boredom. Even Seattle, once bustling and vibrant, became another monotonous side note of my life. And when Donny would come home at five thirty, clad in a suit with briefcase in hand, the epitome of the traditional husband, I began to look straight through him. After awhile, his affections became habitual as well, and our marriage was deeply jaded.
He was the first one to break the cycle; I had tried to preserve the union for as long as possible, which never really took much effort. We were kind to each other, unwaveringly civil. This dispassion defined our marriage perfectly. A mutual yet unspoken understanding developed between us: the continuation of our nuptials was for the sake of convenience, out of politeness, and an aversion to hurting each other. If he ever had an affair, he kept the secret well, but I know that I was never tempted. I was unhappily and uselessly complacent.
One day, Donny approached me with an unusual solemnity in his expression, and I realized he desired a serious conversation. I was Intrigued at this rare occurrence, because we rarely ever spoke of anything consequential. Even before he had commenced, I knew what his talk would regard. The inevitable divorce had finally arrived, yet I was strangely dumbstruck at this progression of events.
Donny mistook my terror for some enduring devotion to him, and I never bothered to explain that it was an upheaval of my life that scared me. Physically losing him was perfectly bearable, because we had abandoned each other in spirit long ago. It was this sense of aimlessness that bothered me. Divorced at twenty seven: where do I go from here?
Divorce is strange; my friend Brie claims that it is like waking up from a long nightmare, only to find out that the dream is real. I feel as though I have sunk into a deeper, comatose sleep. My father, a psychiatrist and the one person I take great pains to avoid, diagnoses me as depressed. I don’t think that I care enough to be depressed, which might as well be characteristic of such an emotional state. The only acute and distinct feeling which I possess is one of disappointment; I’m neither nostalgic or regretful. My other emotions are so jumbled together that I can only describe them as a heavy knot in my stomach which mostly rests in the gut and occasionally squirms into my chest.
After my mom calls me, I sort through my clothing lethargically and disinterestedly. Most of my wardrobe strikes me as being rather dull, the conservative colors meshing with the simple designs. I had discarded all of my blasé clothing when I reached twenty five, and know I am taken aback at how inappropriate my outfits are for a woman of my age. No one would be able to distinguish between my wardrobe and my mothers, the clothing is so outdated. Each article is tasteful though, and well cared for, despite the blandness, and my suitcase is soon full of neatly folded clothing.
Sighing emphatically, I zip up my luggage and proceed to gather the remaining toiletries from our bathroom cabinet. I feel aged, but when I look in the mirror, it surprises me that I still look so young. I have one of those round, flushed faces that never fails to soften the vestiges of wrinkles which are begging to form around my eyes. When I was in high school, this facet of my appearance bothered me greatly, and I am only recently appreciating this youthful feature.