Normal Girl

The Type of Girl My Daddy Would be Proud Of

{}{} Quick Note Before We Get Going... {}{}

Okay, so I know that this might be kind of weird to do at the very beginning of a story (that this person has already read several times over) and that he probably won't even see this, but I just wanted to dedicate this story and give a very special thank you to my friend, Nate, who has stuck with me through my entrance into and flourishing within the Danganronpa series/fandom as well as supporting all of my writing endeavors thus far. I don't think I would've stuck with this story or have even dared to put it out into the world without him. Nate, your consistent and unconditional encouragement has really helped me push through some tougher areas of my writing so far, and I hope that you, and all of my readers, will feel the love, care, time, and attention that I put into this story because of you. I love you, babes!! <333

Alright, that concludes my little... well, I'm not even sure what to call it, but anyway, I'm done saying what I wanted to say. Onto the story already!!!

[Y/N POV (unless otherwise noted, all of the POVs in the story are first person of whatever character)]

*Plip! Plip! Sniffle...hic!... sniffle... Plip!*

'Just keep your head down. Keep your head down, and they won't notice. Don't let the tears fall far enough out of the shadow of your jacket hood that they'll see. Just keep walking. Walk faster. Too slow. Not fast enough. Wipe your nose, too, snot is disgusting. You're disgusting. You don't deserve it. You didn't deserve that letter. Literally anybody else would've been more deserving of that spot at Hope's Peak. How dare you even think that you're good enough to think- pull your hood down further or else they'll see your disgusting face. What kind of talent even is Ultimate Hope supposed to be? How pathetic, they couldn't even come up with a good reason for you to go to that school. Everybody knows you don't deserve it. Walk faster, you're almost to the treehouse. Through the neighbor's backyard. Take a left behind the third house past the flower garden. Count the fence posts. One, two, three, broken, four, five. Second opening in the decaying fence, duck! Clearing, bushes, evergreens and magnolia trees, patch of honeysuckle and white daffodils. Take one for the flower pot. My treehouse! *sigh of relief* Finally.'

In the middle of the clearing stood the tallest, most magnificent oak tree I've ever seen. Granted, it's the only oak tree I've ever seen, but my dad planted it when he asked out my mom in high school. It's a family tradition, and supposedly, as long as he nurtured the tree with all of the love he felt for that special someone, the tree would grow, ensuring a long and happy marriage for him and my mom. By the time they did get married and I was born, it was huge.

On my sixth birthday, my dad took me to the clearing to show me the massive treehouse he'd built on the tree. He said it was supposed to "symbolize how I would always be supported by the love and care of him and my mom" and "as long as I never forgot that, the tree would stay strong and the treehouse would never fall." That was 10 years ago. I didn't realize until just now, but I guess that makes today exactly 6 years since he passed. I know it sounds cliche, but I lost my dad to a heart attack when I was 10 years old. It was totally sudden. My dad was one of the healthiest, happiest people I knew, second only to my mom. When he passed, I just couldn't bear to even look at the treehouse anymore. I stopped visiting it altogether. My mom tried really hard to try to get me to go back, but I just couldn't bear it. I threw myself into my school work throughout the rest of elementary school, but one day in middle school about three years ago, I decided to stop by on my way home. I don't really know what compelled me to go see it on that specific day after all those years, but as soon as I did visit it, I was so disappointed and angry at myself for having abandoned it. My heart broke seeing the state it was in. The treehouse was worn and showing signs of falling apart from the lack of care, with some missing side paneling and shingles, but what really caught my attention was how the tree looked just as strong and healthy as it had been when my dad was alive. Even in some parts, it looked like the tree had grown around the treehouse as though it was trying to support the treehouse and keep it held together. I suddenly felt so ashamed that I'd abandoned everything my dad did and built for me in his life and just let it fall into disarray like that when things were difficult or uncomfortable. I spent that whole summer working to clean up and restore the treehouse. I never told my mom about any of the construction, not wanting to bother her with all the hard work when she was already struggling to support me financially with school and clothes and stuff like that.

Even after his passing, my dad was trying to support my mom and me as much as he could. About a year after he died, my mom was going through my dad's belongings for memorabilia, and at the very bottom of his nightstand drawer, she found a secret will detailing the location and contents of a box he'd been keeping in the garage of his savings that he wanted to go toward my schooling and care. My mom took us out for a nice dinner that night, and the next day she deposited all the money my dad left for me into two savings accounts. One of them is the school fund, and the other is a debit card for purchases of my basic needs. I touch my right thigh and feel the hard plastic rectangle sitting snugly in my jeans pocket as usual; I smile fondly, thinking of how much my dad cared and planned ahead for everything. I miss him a lot. I don't think I'll ever get over his passing, but I've come to terms with the fact that he's gone and learned to appreciate all the things we had and still have to remember him. Besides, I still have the treehouse.

I carefully climb the ladder up into the main cabin of the treehouse. The treehouse has three "rooms": the main cabin/entrance with a low table, comfy chairs, and a bookshelf with all my favorite books and music and some basic supplies like a portable phone charger, flashlight, and umbrella; the bedroom with a decent mattress, vents and a fan and heater for temperature control when it gets too hot or cold, two windows with views of the mountains to the northeast and the bay in the opposite direction; and lastly, the storage room where the generator is kept along with all kinds of supplies like non-temperature sensitive snacks, extra gas and repair supplies for the generator and spare solar panels, and all of my supplies for different activities like art supplies, an extra stash of books, a portable DVD player and my favorite movies, a CD player and speaker for my dad's old discs, and tons of extra batteries of all sizes for all the little devices. This is my treehouse, my pride and joy, my biggest remaining reminder of my dad. The culmination of more than 17 years of my dad and I's work and care and love.

There are Polaroid pictures pinned all over the bedroom and main cabin wall of my parents and me, my biggest achievements, my friends, and a few other things like band posters and a tapestry and stuff in the bedroom. I don't live here or anything, I just spend the majority of my time here, and sometimes it's nice to have a comfy place to sleep when my mom and I fight or when the weather is extra nice and I'm too sleepy to walk home.

"*cssshhhhh* (Y/N)? (Y/N) are you there? I know you're there, please answer back. *click*"

{}{} Author's Note {}{}

Hi, guys! I recently went through my writing (I am writing this story on a separate google doc which, as of writing this, is 125 pages long) and edited for grammar and concision, so if you notice any changes, that's why!

Length: 1,237 words