Snow and the Delinquent Eleven

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It was a natural death. Nothing big like a car accident, nothing as tragic as an unsolved murder case. Only a conventional illness. Cancer, the lung type. She didn't cry when the time came, nor did she shed a single tear at the funeral. She'd coped differently; the break up with Sam, skipping classes, blowing off calls. Even with the expectations of his death, being emotionally beaten up never felt so painful before. Then again, perhaps it was the method she was raised that got her behaving a little different than she had hoped. Neighbours found it oddly strange and friends didn't attend to judge.

With no mother figure in her life, she's learnt to toughen up. To fight bullies in preference to cowering away.

Of course all that changed when she began high school. Her self esteem popped. She was put down and beaten as a child. Dad was never there when it happened so he'd always come home to his clumsy daughter and his-

"Snow! Darling! Give your mother a hug!"

Before Snow could do anything (running for the hills looked really good right now). Her bag chose this moment in time to tangle its strap in the hook of a chair.

Stupid chair.

Suddenly, a tall form engulfed her into its sea of darkness. The creature smelt of black rose and rotten egg.

Obviously, that's what Snow had in mind. Truthfully, she smelt...nice. Not that Snow was going to ever admit that.

"Step. Mother..." Her face was smouldered deeper into her shoulder as if the creature intended on suffocating her -which, by the way, has happened before.

"Oh, how I missed you!" She pulled back but didn't take her gripping hands off her forearm. "Look at you. You're so thin!" She turned her head to the side and snapped her finger.

A tall Asian man in a fitted black suit and cap stepped forth, his expression was bland, it was a little hard to tell if he wanted strangle the creature or if he wanted to assist her with ease. All he said was, "Yes? My lady."

My lady? What is this? The twelfth century?

Stepmother, Carressa White waved her hands over Snows luggage. She packed light. The call from the day before has tasked her to pack quickly. Tom didn't sound too good. "Carry this to the car," she smiled down at Snow. "Snow and I have a lot to talk about. Don't we darling?"

Snow didn't know if she should smile or bare out her teeth. Stuck in the dilemma, her response was in between. "Su...sure."

Stepmother patted her shoulder as they made their way out the airport terminal. "Come come."

Snow was extremely violated. Her worse nightmare was acting pretty darn weird. If what she was doing was a way of pleasantry or to somehow make up for the many years of torture; then, yes, weird was the correct term.

Climbing onto the limousine first, Snows mouth watered at the sight of strawberry and cream dipped on chocolate cake at the side bar. From the other side her stepmother joined her. Closing the door, the car sped off.

There wasn't a damn thing in the universe that could make Snow say this -but she felt like she had to. "Thank...thank you for picking me up today. You didn't have to, I was going to call a taxi."

Snows stepmother waved her gloved hand dismissively. "It's the least I could do." She sweetly grins, a little too sweet. "You are after all my dead husbands daughter."

Nice way of putting it, she thought.

Snow stared. She hasn't changed an inch of her appearance since the last time she saw her. She'd always wear attires of black. It suited her well. Black skirt (never pants), black blazer, and that black cotton glove. Of course, the funeral didn't count. Everyone that attended wore the colour black; plus Snow had no interest in seeking out her stepmother during the ceremony. She flew out the second it was over.

Her dishwashed blonde hair was bounded back in a small side bun, and she was wearing red lipstick. Snow was highly aware of the only makeup she adorned was the lipstick, nothing else. She couldn't help but think that she was a natural beauty, no matter how much she truly despised her.

Carressa was on the bridge of mid thirties, for many years she had her sights set on her fashion line. Her career became successful after she married the billionaire Adrian White, her father. Now that she got what she mostly desired, her fashion line was well know across the globe and appraised. Being rich beyond comprehension got the world to her feet.

"Tell me Little Snow, how is college?" God. She certainly didn't miss the awful nickname.

"It's...good. Erm...a little tough lately, my exams-"

Carressa interrupted with her chagrined laughed, it was one of those forced laughs, so unreal. "Snow darling, I have to tell you about my great news! I've received a call from Mary O'shea during one of my spa weekend. She's invited me to one of her late night talk shows."

How do you react to someone who interrupted you? In this case, you pray it's only a one time thing and move on. "Oh...err," Snow coughed. "That's...that's fantastic."

Carressa grinned. She pulled on her sunglasses. "I was going to call Karla- you remember Karla don't you?"

How can she not? Karla was stepmothers plastic sidekick and in a twisted sense, her all time enemy. Snow didn't know much about friendship, but, these two gooses were the oddest complexion of friends. They practically fought over everyone and everything; may it be over shoes or the daily hair style, or something as small as the same hair clip.

The worry of it all is what happens when they do join forces. Hell shall break loose. Of all people, Snow should know. She's witnessed this first hand.

"Err..yeah, I remember her. How's Aunt Karla doing?" Crazy Karla insisted Snow to call her that.

Snow imagined stepmother rolling her eyes underneath her humongous sunglasses. "Fine." She said in a clipped tone. "She copied my handbag yesterday."

Some things never change.

"I'm sure she was just wanted to be more like you..." Snow suggested.

Stepmother paused, her hand was midway in the air as she was about to launch into a flood of insults. "That's...th...that's right!" She turned her head to the front. "Jackson! Step on it, I want to say these exact words to Karla when I get home!"

Jackson, the formal guy nodded his head without looking back. "Yes my lady. We're almost there."