Watch Your Temper

Chapter One: I Officially Hate Soup!

        "I now pronounce Temper Violet Adagio as the ruler of Monktown!"

I waited in anticipation for the shiny, golden crown to be placed atop my head. The moment it touched my hair, the crowd of monkeys in front of me went wild, shrieking and jumping and throwing bananas in the air. It kind of reminded me of that one scene in The Jungle Book...

"Thank you, thank you!" I cried over the chaos.

"Tem-per! Tem-per! Tem-per!" Wow. My subjects sure loved me.

Then Monktown started to shake.

Wait-- it was me. I was shaking...?

"Temper! Temper! Temper!" a familiar voice repeated, sounding far away.

"Hmm?" I mumbled, opening my eyes. I flinched and dived back under the covers to get away from the bright sun.

"Temper, you need to get up! Mr. Lane is expecting you to be at his store by nine o'clock," my mom said, practically shoving me out of bed.

I was just about to grumble a long string of cuss words when I saw the look on her face.

Ugh. Fine.

"Sure, Mom," I replied in a chipper voice, fake smile and all. She gave me an approving nod and left, shutting the door behind her. 

That was a weird-ass dream. Too bad Monktown wasn't real...

After I was done in the bathroom, I returned to dress.

I flung open my closet and racked through it, although I didn't have much options. Mr. Lane had told me to wear jeans and a plain t-shirt, so I did just that. I assumed he'd have an apron or something for me to put over it later, anyway. No use on dolling up for a grocery store.

I didn't bother to brush my long brunette hair, instead just slipping it into a loose ponytail and slapping on a Yankees ball cap. A little bit of lip gloss, and voila. 

I looked at myself in the mirror and cringed-- I looked like a plain-Jane. Whatever. I grasped my cell and wallet and was on my way out.

I clomped noisily down the hall, not caring that my brother might be sleeping, as well as the people on the floor below us.

"Temper! Grab a granola bar, since you don't have time for breakfast," my mom called down the hall, right when I placed my hand on the door knob. I sighed, but retreated back to the kitchen, shuffling around in the cupboards for something edible. I opted for a chocolate-chip muffin, because it's never too early for a little sugar in the morning. It wasn't like I was going to eat it much, anyway-- I hated breakfast. Yeah, yeah, I know. Not healthy.

Finally, I could leave. I waved to my mom, who was situated at the table, reading the newspaper, and to Ronnie, who just got up to watch Saturday cartoons. I opened the door and stepped out into the empty hallway, skipping to the elevator. I waited about a minute or two before pressing the broken button again. I waited. And I waited. And I waited.

I gave up with an exasperated sigh, swinging open the door to the stairs. I sprinted down all thirteen flights, nearly crashing into a few people. As soon as I got outside, I continued on my way to Mr. Lane's store. I looked at my phone. Damn. It was 8:56; it took ten minutes to walk to the store. I was so screwed.

I tried to look not panicked as I was feeling. With the crowded streets of N.Y.C., annoying car honks and fierce wind, I was getting a little paranoid. I gave up my 'look-cool and calm' act, and decided to plummet through the crowd.

"Sorry! Excuse me! Pardon me! Sorry! Coming through!" I called out as I forced my way through the clusters of people. God, if I had a dollar for every strange look I received from a tourist...