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Whoever said it was a good idea to go back to school instead of being a year-rounder at camp was stupid.
Oh, wait.
Bronte groaned, flopping down on her bed and staring at the ceiling.
She had just finished another boring day at school, meaning that now she would sit in her room until her mother got home from work.
Maria had started to become more apparent in Bronte's life, which she was very glad about, but maybe Maria was in her life a little too much...
She was always asking her daughter about her friends and wanting to know about everything she had missed. Bronte happily told her whatever she wanted, but the questions just kept on coming.
She stared at her fan, watching it whirl around at a constant speed. If she looked at it long enough, she could see each blade move in a circle. She was bored out of her mind, wanting to do something.
Bronte didn't have many (any) friends at school, meaning she couldn't ask them to hang out. She usually would draw in her new sketchbook, trying to remember all of her old doodles.
That had gotten tiring, though. Her hand would cramp since all she did was write at school. And she didn't want them to look sloppy, so she put a cap on drawing overall.
Bronte sat up in her bed, the blood rushing to her head. She paused for a second, letting it return to its normal flow.
She hopped out of bed and dug through her closet, pulling out something she hadn't touched in years. The baby blue roller skates in her hands were tattered and worn down, but since skating was the only thing she used to do with her mother and brother when they were free, she always held onto them. Bronte pulled the skates on, making sure to tie them tight.
She stood up and rolled out of her room, doing laps around her apartment. She smiled, the feeling of wind blowing through her hair. Bronte was a little rusty, she will admit, but skating was a skill she could pick up on easily, so it wasn't a big deal.
She had always wanted to go roller skating at an actual rink again, but because of her classes and her mom not being home until late from work, she never had the chance. She was forced to stay home, where it was safe.
The wood creaked from under her, and scratches could be seen from when she used to skate when she was younger.
Bronte skated around her apartment, weaving in and out of rooms. She made a wide turn around her couch.
One thing she forgot to do was look up. Her front door was wide open, making her collide with it and fall to the floor. She groaned on the wood, holding her head in her hands.
