Yes, that describes about how I feel today. I just feel super sick. It started when I woke up this morning. It's one of those things where you wake up and you feel fine, until you actually stand up. Yes, that's the thing that hit me today. Ew. I don't even know what it is, I just feel gross. I haven't eaten anything since breakfast because that backfired on me, so I'm hungry and tired and my head hurts. UGH. I found out the other day that I have a dress rehearsal for my choir concert that it seems everyone else but me knew about. Hahahaha we all laugh at you Alex, yes I know. Thank you. Anyway, today I wanted to say two things: One, I don't feel good, and two, there's a new Zelda game coming out for the Wii(exclusive to wii, sorry all you gamecubers), and I can't wait for it. Um..... I really want to run this little story by you guys. It started as a dream, and then I fleshed it out for a creative writing assignment. Please give me some feedback on what you like, and what I could improve upon. Thanks guys!!
“Perfect Strangers” WIP book chapter
Fourteen excruciating hours on a stuffy plane sitting next to a sweaty sumo and Miss Tour Guide Barbie had nearly driven me to insanity. Her voice was shrill, almost like fingernails biting into a blackboard relentlessly. I had buried myself as deep into my springy chair as I could without suffocating from the heinous odor coming from Super Sumo, and drowned out Barbie’s voice with my Ipod. I barely survived the flight, and as soon as we touched down and were set free, I snatched my backpack out of the cubby and tore out of that terminal like a bat out of Hell. I headed straight for the luggage pickup. Waiting for it to arrive had turned into another sanity killing experience. Grandmas: My new least favorite people.
With a grunt I yanked my huge duffel over my shoulders and dragged my monstrous suitcases behind me, my checkered backpack flopping off and dragging on the floor behind them. With a scowl I made my way to the main doors where my father told me someone from the school would be waiting for me. That’s right; I had been torn from my boyfriend and my best friends, and kicked out of the country to attend Dover Boarding Academy in London , England London
When I made it to the entrance I scanned the crowd for anyone with a sign that said my name, but I found no one.
“Laela Price?” said a cold voice from behind me.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, a chill running down my spine. I knew I shouldn’t turn around, I had seen this exact thing on so many horror movies. When the girl turns around she’s faced with the horrid monster that’s been killing her friends throughout the film, and it finally found her. Don’t turn around, whispered a voice in my head. But, like any other girl in a horror film, I turned around. I found myself face-to-face with the most severe-looking old man I had ever seen. I stumbled back a step from my deep surprise. How did this man know my name? How did he know what I looked like? Was he supposed to be from Dover
“My name is Mortimer Dover, Headmaster of Dover Academy.” He said in a distorted sort of voice—almost like it had traveled through a cell phone with spotty reception. “Glad that you have arrived safely.”
I stood rooted to the spot with my hands clamped firmly on my suitcases. Something about this man didn’t strike me as… right. I watched him closely, scrutinizing every detail of his expensive tailored suit and his beady black eyes hiding behind a pair of spectacles resting on the bridge of his crooked nose. My cell buzzed suddenly in my pocket making me nearly scream. I reached for it instinctively on the third ring and raised it to my ear.
“Hello?” I said slowly, never taking my eyes from Headmaster Dover.
“Hey hun!” rang my mom’s voice over the crackly speaker phone at home. She wasn’t close to the phone as I could hear dishes clanking around in the sink. She was certainly up early. “How was the flight? Has Headmaster Dover arrived yet?”
“Yeah mom, he’s right here.” I glared at him, and I could have sworn I saw the edges of his cracked old lips curl into a smile. “Listen, I’m gonna have to call you back later, okay?”
She sighed, “Fine,”
I clicked the phone shut as Headmaster Dover approached.
“Would you like help with your bags?” he offered.
“I’m fine, thanks.” I didn’t trust him one bit.
He nodded slightly, beckoning me to follow. Careful to stay a good distance behind him, I followed him to a black town car parked at the front doors. The driver waited by the car, and upon our arrival he opened the trunk and helped me with my bags before quick stepping to the passenger door and held it open for the Headmaster. My insides tightened. Everything I had ever learned about staying away from creepy old people, and not getting into cars with strangers—especially men—was crumbling before me. The driver smiled at me. He was young; my age about, with dark shaggy hair that fell over his forehead covering his sparkling emerald eyes that flashed dangerously beneath his mop. He waved his hand toward the car. Reluctantly I ducked into the car, which smelled heavily of cigar smoke. I pressed myself against the door when it closed, putting as much possible space between the Headmaster and me.
The ride was almost as bad as the flight over. I felt my chest burning, my eyes tearing up and I felt like passing out. If I didn’t get out of this car soon I would die. My hand groped around the dark door for the window controls, but they didn’t exist. Curse you stupid town car for keeping me trapped within this steel cage with a creepy old man and this toxic smoke. Just as I was about to take my chances with the road, the car rolled to a stop and the door swung open, tossing me onto the road. I gasped for the beautiful clean air, lying on the ground heaving for breath, and making a fool of myself, but I didn’t care. My long black hair twisted around my face and neck, sticking to my lips and tickling my nose. It was marvelous, but when I heard the gravel crunch at my feet, I knew the Headmaster had exited the vehicle. I sat up so quickly black shadows crept into the edges of my vision and my head felt empty. He was staring sternly over the top of his glasses and I knew right away what he had labeled me as. Delinquent. That’s what I had always been to everyone. I never really fit in, so I did things differently, which made me a delinquent. The driver appeared suddenly at my side, his arm around my waist, guiding me upward. I didn’t know whether to be embarrassed, or brush it off, but something about his touch made my skin flare with heat.
“Mr. Mazzigati will take your bags to your room.” The Headmaster said harshly, “Follow me to collect your class schedule and uniform.”
That word was like poison. I hated uniforms. They limited my creative freedom I so cherished at my last school. I watched as the boy— Mazzigati—took my bags into the enormous building we had arrived at before trudging after the Headmaster. We entered a side door, and into a huge office. Three women sat at the desk in front of me, their hair pulled back in tight buns, clicking away at keyboards and answering phones. I cringed away from them; secretaries always creeped me out. The Headmaster turned around, raised his flat palm to my face, halting me in my place and disappeared around the corner. He reappeared carrying a bundle of clothes and a stack of paper. He all but shoved them at me and told me to read the papers—honor code, dress code that sort of thing—and handed me a room key (one of those nifty hotel ones), and directed me to the elevator, told me my floor, and then stomped away.
Quietly I slipped from the office and into the elevator. The door opened and a pair of face suckers jumped apart, the girl fixed her shirt and patted down her hair furiously, looking extremely embarrassed.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,” I coughed to hide my giggle as the two scrambled to their feet. “But if this is the only elevator, I need it to get to my room.”
Without answering the two dashed from the elevator and into the hallway. I stepped inside, pressed the number four and rolled my eyes when the horrid music reached my ears. Elevator Music: Rejected by All, Loved by None. They should make a song about that, and play that in the elevators. It would certainly keep my attention. The elevator lurched, and I stumbled forward, supporting myself against the doors, but as soon as they slid open all hope was lost as I found the ground rising to meet me. Funny thing is that it never did. I felt a pair of strong hands clamp down on my arms, stopping me before I met the carpet. I had always been a clumsy person, but today was an off day. I blame the jetlag. The hands pulled me to my feet, and I found myself staring into the deep green eyes of Mazzigati, whatever his first name was.
“This is the second time within the hour that you’ve nearly killed yourself toppling out of doors,” he said with a coy smile. His accent was intoxicating and his smile made me shiver. The heat from his touch made my body warm, and I had the strangest urge to wrap myself into his arms and stay there. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there to catch you every time you fall.” He winked.
Was this kid crazy? I didn’t know him, he didn’t know me, so what was he promising here? He sounded like a stalker; an attractive stalker.
“Um… thanks?” I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, and then I suddenly remembered that he had delivered her things to her room. “Oh, which room is mine… um…?” I didn’t know his name. What was I supposed to say?
“Stitch Mazzigati, at your service.” He smiled, “Sixth one down the hall and to your left.”
He stepped around me and into the elevator.
“Thanks,”
What kind of a name was Stitch? With a shake of my head I made my way down the hall and found my room. The door was slightly ajar, so I nudged it open with my foot and stuck my head inside, peeking around each corner and then stood up, walked in and shut the door behind me. The room itself was enormous. I wondered how many girls were living in this room, no scratch that, it wasn’t a room, it was a hotel suite. There was a mini kitchen, and several rooms, the living area had an enormous television sitting smack in the middle of a mahogany entertainment center. How much money was tuition around here?
I reached into my pocket and extracted my cell phone, and dialed my dad’s number. He answered on the fourth ring, but before he could say anything I pounced. “How much fricken money are you paying to keep me here?” I demanded.
He stumbled over his words for a moment before he could formulate a proper sentence. “What dear?” he asked.
“How much money are you paying to keep me here?” I repeated, a sense of urgency edging into my voice. “I want an honest answer.”
“Fifty-four thousand, nine hundred a year.” He replied casually, “Listen honey, I have to go. I have a meeting at seven thirty.”
Of course. “Bye. Love you.”
“Uh huh,” Dial tone.
With another heavy sigh I found my things piled in front of a door. Cautiously I opened it, not sure if it was vacant, but when I saw the barren white walls, I knew it belonged to me. Suddenly the door opened behind me and a few girls entered the room. I turned around and found myself face to face with the red-head from the elevator. Her eyes bugged and she gasped.
“What are you doing in here?” she asked, pointing a finger at me.
“Well, I live here now.” I replied with a smile.
“You’re the new girl?” her face was beet red and she was rubbing her palms against her dark plaid skirt. “You’re our new roommate?”
I nodded.
The other girls didn’t understand the discomfort in their friend’s words, but I understood. They stared at her before flitting into the kitchen and delving into the shelves. The red-head approached me, a severe look on her face.
“Look, I don’t want to make an enemy of you within your first hours here, but if one word about what you saw earlier escapes those shiny lips of yours, you’ll wish you never transferred.” She growled.
Too late, I wanted to say, I already do. “I won’t say a word.”
There was a knock on the door and the girls in the room all scrambled to answer it, fluffing their hair and fixing their clothes before casually, but urgently ripping the door open.
“Is Laela here?” purred a familiar voice.
“Who’s Laela and why do you want to see her?” asked a brunette girl with slinky curls as she stepped forward out of the door. I could almost imagine her pushing herself against whatever male stood there.
“I know she’s here, unless she got lost, in which case I should go find her. I have something of hers.”
Intrigued I pulled the door open wider, revealing the mystery man behind the door. Stitch. He smiled warmly at me, leaning forward so his honey-sweet breath bounced off my cheeks. I felt myself blushing.
“’Ello, love,”
“H-hi, Stitch.” I muttered, “What do you need?”
He reached for my hand without looking away, opened it, and placed something in the center of my palm before closing my hand around it. With one last smile and a wink he left me standing there, blushing like a fool and slightly breathless. I opened my hand and looked down to see what he had placed there. It was a necklace with a golden chain and a beautiful golden pendant where an intricate butterfly was carved. This didn’t belong to me. I had never seen it in my life! What was he thinking? I ran after him, stopping him at the elevator.
“Stitch, this isn’t mine,” I panted, holding the necklace out to him.
“Sure it is,” he smirked.
I stared at him. What was he getting at?
“G’bye love, see you tomorrow.”
He stepped backward into the elevator and pressed a button, then he was gone and I was left with a necklace that didn’t belong to me, and a strange feeling in my stomach.
No comments:
Post a Comment