Sold To Josh Groban

Chapter 1

My alarm buzzes, telling me I need to get up for school. I groan and cover my eyes. Just five more minutes. I roll over and look at the alarm clock. 7:15! Holy shoot, I'm going to be late for school!

I spring out of bed and run to the bathroom. I splash my face in some water and inspect myself critically. A few more freckles showed up last night. Ugh, they're so annoying. Those ugly brown spots dot the bridge of my pale nose like angel kisses. My tired brown orbs flick up as I comb through my unruly chocolate hair. I try my best to straighten it, but it's disgustingly curly as always. Oh well, should have got up earlier. I throw it into a messy bun.

Remembering the time, I dash into my room and jump into my pants from yesterday, still lying discarded on the floor from where I left them last night. I slap on a t-shirt with my favorite underground band, The Beastie Boys, on it and grab my backpack from my bedside table. No time for makeup today, my horribly pale, freckled skin will just have to be on show. Not that it matters, it's not like I have anyone to impress today.

I dash down the stairs, taking them two at a time. My mom is seated at the kitchen table, breakfast laid in front of her. I go to grab a waffle, but she grabs my wrist.

"There's something I need to tell you." Mom says, pale blue orbs staring at me critically as she nurses a glass of bourbon. "You're not going to school today."

"Why not?" I ask, dropping my heavy backpack on the floor. My mom gives me a withering stare. She takes a big drink of her whiskey and slams the glass on the table.

"I can't support you through college anymore." She intones. Her eyes are heavy with regret and happiness. "It's impossible for me to pay for both your schooling and my alcohol addiction."

My eyes widen in surprise. "What are we going to do?" I murmur.

"I'm selling you." Mom says with finality. The silence weighs heavy on my chest.

"You're... you're selling me?!?!?"

"Yeah you little brat, I'm sick of supporting your lazy ass."

"What the frick?" I yell. "That can't possibly be legal. I'm calling the cops!" I spring to the phone hanging from the wall, momentarily forgetting my cell phone in my back pocket. I pick it up, intent on calling the police immediately, but my hand stills. What's the police number again? Shoot, I can't remember it. It was always on speed dial on my cell phone, I had no reason to remember it.

Before I can remember my cell phone, a sudden pressure hits the back of my knee and I crumble to the ground. My mom drop kicked me! I spin around, reaching for my switchblade that I keep in my black laced combat boots, but my mom kicks my hand away and punches me in the kidney. I fall one final time, my vision blurring. As the darkness creeps in, the last thing I see is my mom on the wall phone, cradling her glass of vodka.

"Yeah," she announces, "she's ready for the pickup. I'll be seeing you soon, Mr. Josh Groban."

Josh Groban!

My mom sold me to Josh Groban!!!