August

James

"GET BACK HERE, FLORA!"

"NO WAY!"

"IT'S MIIINE!"

"NO, MOM AND DAD GAVE IT TO ME!"

"AGHHH! GIVE IT BACK!"

Well, those were my sisters, Isabel and Flora. They were constantly arguring with each other. Nonstop. Every. Single. Day. It really starts to grate on your nerves after a while.

I cracked open the door only long enough to scream, "WILL YOU BOTH SHUT UP?"

Isabel let out another screech. "MUMMY! FLORA STOLE MY HEADBAND!"

I winced and slammed the door shut. 

"Kids, stop fighting!" My mom shouted up the stars. "You'll make us all late for our vacation!"

If, by vacation, she meant spending a month of torture on a beach with my sisters and not Betty, then yes. We would be late for that.

I still couldn't believe I had to go. I had argued relentlessly that I was almost seventeen and could do what I wanted. And besides, me and Betty had just started dating. I didn't want to go a whole month  without her.

But mom had insisted. She said it was our last vacation together, as a family, before I went off to college. 

I told her, it's the end of highschool, it's not like I'm moving to Arabia or something. But she still forced me to come. And when she got dad to back her up, I knew it was a hopeless cause.

I sighed and watched as a bird came to rest on the branch outside my window. It caught me looking and glared like, what you looking at? It flicked it's beak, almost snootily, and took off. 

What would it be like to fly? To get away from this town. 

I lived in a tiny town called Stonerift, with a total population of 136 people. Everyone that lived there was either broke, desperate, crazy, or dying. So, you can imagine, it was super fun and cheerful to live there.

The streets hadn't been paved in at least twenty years, and the sidewalks were made of uneven cobblestones. There were only three places to shop for food, and clothing stores were equally scarce. 

If you wanted to find a school for your eight-year-old that didn't share a classroom with middle schoolers? You'd better move. On the other hand, if you like antiques, just hit up one of the six antique stores.

Mom was obsessed with going to those. That was the main reason our house looked like it belonged in the fifties. That, and also the entire town hadn't been touched since the fifties.

I poked at the hole in my jeans, forlonly. Mom was always nagging me to get a new pair, but I liked them. They gave me a rugged look.

There's a knock on my door. 

"James? You ready?" Dad pushed open the door.

I shrugged. "I guess."

"You need help with your bags?"

"Please,"

"If you help me cram everything into the car, I swear, your mother brought enough clothes for a year."

I laughed. "Okay, let's go."