Poor Little Rich Girl | ✓

Chapter 2: Your Card Got Declined

Chapter 2: Your Card Got Declined

I wake up a few hours later, my stomach grumbling. Hmmm, I didn’t know it was possible to wake up from hunger. I get sit up in the bed, and blink a few times, then remember where I am which makes me glum all over again. I was hoping it was all just some terrible nightmare and I’d wake up at home in my beautiful sea foam green room in my large, comfortable king-sized bed. But sadly, that’s not the case, for I am looking around and there’s not a fleck of sea foam green anywhere. Just the boring, pasty-white colored walls and the horrifyingly ugly creaky floorboards.

I grab my phone from underneath the pillow and look at the time, the bright light causing me to blink as it nearly blinds me. I see that it’s only 6:45, meaning I’ve only been here two hours and it already feels like it’s been a lifetime. Two lifetimes at that. I get out of the bed, pull my flip-flops on and walk out of the room, heading down the short corridor in search for some food. The only good thing about my Grandma Nancy having a house the size of a shoebox is the fact that there’s no stairs, which is really nice for people who are lazy, like myself.

I walk into the kitchen and see Spencer, my parents and my grandma clearing the table of dinner plates. Did they seriously eat dinner without me? “Where’s my food?” I wonder.

“We assumed you weren’t hungry; dinner’s at 6:00, Stephanie.” My grandmother tells me, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

“What, so I’m just supposed to not eat?” I ask incredulously.

“I tried to wake you up, but you told me to ‘go away before’ you ‘slit my throat’, so I left.” Spencer defends.

“Did I really?” I wonder. He nods and I say, “Huh, I don’t remember that.”

“Well, you are a terrible person to try to wake up.” He reminds me.

“This is true.” I say, turning back to my parents and my grandmother. “Okay, so what am I supposed to do?”

“If you’re hungry; get something to eat from the refrigerator.” My mom tells me.

“What do you have?” I wonder, looking at my grandma.

“You like Ramen noodles?”

“Pardon?”

“Do.You.Like.Ramen.Noodles?” She asks again, articulating to me like I’m retarded or something.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“What have you two done to this child?” My grandma demands of my parents. “What kinda fifteen year old doesn’t know what Ramen is?”

“I’m seventeen.” I correct her.

“Same difference.”

“Not really.”

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to talk back to adults? Don’t you have any respect?” She demands.

“Of course I have respect, just not for people who have none for me.”

“And you have quite the smart mouth, you two are raising this one all wr-“

“Nancy, we’re raising her just fine.” My dad interrupts. Then he looks at me, ”Steffy, sweetie, Ramen is noodles.”

“Like pasta?”

“Yeah, kinda. They come in these square blocks and you cook them in a pot. They come with seasoning and everything.”

“Oh, okay.” I say, shrugging. “That doesn’t sound too bad, I guess. Can I use your car, mom?”

“Why?”