idk im bad at titles

2

  Clementine's head rolled from left to right on her flattened pillow from the weight of her skull weighing it down, her hair tousled and tangled with patches and stands of clumped-up curls damp with sweat sticking out in odd places. She groaned deep within her throat and rubbed pressure on her eyes with the bottom of her palms. She peered over at the clock sitting dormant on the nightstand. 6:30. Crap. She bolted upwards and regretted it almost immediately, her muscles complaining from the sudden and drastic change in movement. She swung her legs around to meet with the rugged shag carpeting and swiftly carried her campaign closer to the nightstand before snatching the blue and white baseball cap sitting on top of it. It was thoroughly worn out, with rips and tears visible, and stains from the earth that Clementine gave up on trying to wash out. The large 'D' on the front of the hat was falling off from loose and lost stitches. She slapped the hat on her head after trying her best to flatten down her matted curls without being able to see what she was doing, turning on her heels and walking down the hallway from her bedroom.

Clementine peeked through the crack of her younger brother Aj's room. He lay sleeping, sprawled across the bed with the sheets and blankets tangled around his legs and torso, one arm hanging off the side of the mattress. Like sister like brother, I guess, Clementine thought to herself. A small smile crept its way onto her usually tight expression. Even though, technically, she and Aj were not related in the slightest, they tended to have a lot of the same habits. The thought warmed her heart, but only for a moment. Her smile dropped suddenly, turning more into a saddened frown than anything. She tried to push away her thoughts. Her thoughts of him. Her heart hurt too much to even think of his name; just thinking about him made her feel guilty. She shook her head as if to rid her thoughts of the man, stuck her head back out of the room, and walked towards the bathroom. She had already woken up later than she planned on waking up, so she didn't have much time to get ready before she headed to school. Christa must have already left for work, she thought, turning on the sink and putting her hands underneath the running water. She splashed the cool liquid on her face and let the droplets drip down her cheekbones and her jawline as she looked deeply at herself in the mirror. Her eyes drew across her features and ultimately landed on the heavy bags underneath her eyes. She ran her fingers along the edges of the dark brown circles outlining her eyelids and frowned.

"Not lookin' your best there, Clem," she whispered to herself. She blinked a couple of times, her thick dark brown, almost black, eyelashes fluttering against her skin. She sighed and made her way back to her bedroom to change into something more appropriate for school rather than the thin, white tank top with holes apparent on the neckline and the long black basketball shorts with frayed drawstrings she was wearing. Popping open the top drawer, she rustled through her shirts trying to find something that she might want to wear. After a few more minutes of searching, she gave up on looking for something too fancy and settled for a simple cream-colored t-shirt with a pocket on the right breast, a little white baseball embroidered into it. She slipped off the tank top over her curvy figure and pulled it off of her neck, putting on the t-shirt of choice.

She patted down the hat on her head, sticking the little pieces of curled hairs sticking out from static electricity from the shit back underneath it. She bent down to reach the drawer beneath her t-shirt drawer and pulled out light tan cargo pants that perfectly contrasted against her dark brown skin. She rushed to the bathroom once again to look at herself in the mirror. Once she decided she looked acceptable on the first day of her new school, she grabbed her car keys from the basket out by the front door whisked her jacket off of the wall it hung on, and clicked the unlock button, listening to the sudden beep and click noise coming from the car, signifying it was unlocked. She opened the front door and walked out, locking the door behind her. Clementine looked at the car in the driveway and smiled. It was an orange-ish-red 1968 Ford Shelby Mustang. It had a few visible dents in the outer cover, rust building, and spreading across the rims of the tires. There was a small crack in the windshield from a pebble hitting it which caused the glass to break a little under its force. Christa, her foster parent, had gotten it for her on her 16th birthday; it wasn't much, but it was hers, and she was proud of it, no matter how beaten down it was.

Swinging open the driver's door, she threw the car keys on the passenger side seat and put her hands on the steering wheel, feeling the leathery grip beneath her hold. She let out a large sigh and grabbed the keys again, sticking the right key into the socket and turning it, the engine roaring to life.

"Let's get this over with," she said to herself.