The Swap

Allison 1.1

My alarm goes off at seven thirty in the morning. As always I step out of bed head downstairs. I'm still half asleep, so it feels as if my body is being puppeteered into completing the same actions I perform every day.

"Good morning, darling." mom says in a sing-song voice.

"Good morning." I reply.

I sit down at the table and pour myself a bowl of cereal when another voice greets me from behind.

"Good morning, my beautiful ladies," Chad says. He walks past me, giving me a pat on the shoulder and mom a quick kiss.

While he's occupied with mom, I shove my breakfast down my throat and swiftly leave to get dressed, brush my teeth and do my hair. After putting on the usual school uniform and skirt I do my hair. Usually it doesn't take too long, but for some reason my hair just can't live up to my standards today. Same thing for my makeup.

I look in the mirror.

Allison Par, a brown-haired girl with blue eyes looks back at me.

It's Monday today, so I pack my books accordingly. When I go back downstairs, I'm about to leave early when mom tells me to take out the trash.

"I need to hurry for school." I lie.

"Come on, Allison sweetie, listen to your mother." Chad laughs.

After hearing that, I begrudgingly grab the garbage bag beside the door and leave.

I don't like taking out the trash. The container down the street and around the corner is always brimming with threatening thugs. Usually I let mom throw out the trash, since they don't eye her up when she walks by, but ever since Chad's been around it's always my chore. I make it to the container and am about to lift the metal lid when one of the thugs approaches.

"Ya need some help with that?" he asks. He doesn't even slow his walking; he makes it to the container before I can even give him the cold shoulder.

I lift the lid up a bit, but he opens it entirely and holds it open for me.

"Here, hand me the bag, I'll toss it in for you." he gestures towards the garbage bag. His hand is fixated on the bag but his eyes on my face. Actually, they seem to be aimed a bit too low for my face, "A pretty girl like you shouldn't get her hands dirty."

I grab the bag and toss it in myself, all the while avoiding eye contact and barely acknowledging his presence.

"T-Thanks." I mumble - I could barely hear it myself.

As I turn around and cross the street, I for once hope that his eyes are still fixated on my back because my legs are quivering and my hands trembling. When I come home, I'll tell mom why I don't like taking out the trash; for real this time.