The 9 month Project

Chapter 1: Strawberries for sale!

Hey guys! I know I haven't updated Matches Made by Maddie yet, but I had this idea for a new book! Actually, I have tons of other ideas but I had to post this so yeah, I hope you like it! :P

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As the saying goes, "It's not your fault if you are born poor, but if you die poor it's your fault."

A popular saying by Bill Gates that had been my motto eversince I heard that when I delivered a box full of strawberry jams to a high school in our town. I didn't mean to linger in that school long enough to eavesdrop because it isn't allowed for employees like us to do that. It might be foolish of me to say this, but I wouldn't risk my job to learn.

But I did.

No one noticed anyway, I just stood there like a lost puppy while waiting for the school employee to hand me my pay. When I saw the school employee walking towards me, I shot the class one more look and opted to listen more because I was starting to get interested, when I caught someone staring at me. I found myself staring back at those stormy grey eyes, slowly feeling hypnotized.

As soon as the school employee handed me my pay, I immediately walked off, and back to the farm.

That was also when I couldn't get those pair of eyes out of my mind.

♥♥♥♥ 2 years later

"Vicky, can you please deliver these baskets of strawberries to Rosie?" I heard mom ask.

I quickly finished tying my mop of wavy brown hair and stood up from my make shift vanity mirror. I put on my cream colored knit sweater that my sister herself made and after one more overall look at myself in the mirror, I smiled to myself and went downstairs.

"Sure, mom. How many baskets? Can I get it on my bike?" I asked as I reached downstairs. Walking towards the table, I grabbed the glass filled with milk and drank all of it in a couple of chugs.

Mom let out a giggle and used the towel on her shoulder to wipe my mouth. I chuckled, "Oops?"

She shook her head and smiled. "Victoria, you're a lady and yet, you still get some milk mustache." She marched to the kitchen sink and started to wash the dishes.

"Well, no one saw it." I said with a pout and immediately scanned the living room for the baskets.

Mom let out again another giggle. "That's what you always say, dear."

I gave a chuckle and continued to search for the baskets to be delivered. I sighed once I got to see how the living room looks like- messy, as always.

Old newspapers were scattered on the floor, they were all crumply and were used to cover the inside of the basket, some were still tied up in bundles.

The sofa was covered with laundry, on it was Dad who was clearly drunk again. On his face was my younger brother's shirt, and he was still wearing his farming clothes from the other day.

Was he just drinking alcohol for two straight days?

I shook my head in disbelief as I looked at my Dad. Slowly, I went towards him and covered his lower body properly with the blanket and removed my brother's shirt from his face. He stirred and shifted on the sofa, muttering something about fertilizers and strawberries.

I giggled.

Dad may be somewhat of a drunkard but people drink because they have a reason. Well, most people do I suppose and Dad's one of them. All this drinking issue began when my older brother, Henry, fought with Dad and left home to look for a job in the city four years ago, and till now, we haven't heard from him.