"My name is Angelique de Luca, I am 15 years old, until two weeks ago I lived in a town called Limoux in the south of France where all my friends are, and I attended the collège and would have been starting the lycée but for some off reason my mother took me out of school for a term to bring me over here and I already hate this merde English school," I look up at my mother, "Comment cela?"
"Angel," she shakes her head, clearly disappointed in her uncooperative daughter, "You have to make an effort, don't you want to make friends?"
"I had friends back at home," I scowl, and throw down the piece of paper I was writing my profile on,
"Angel," mother says sternly, "Tomorrow you will go into school and your teacher will ask you to introduce yourself to the class, you don't want to embarrass yourself by saying something like that,"
I shrug, "If I'm honest it's quite hard for me to give a shit,"
So here's the thing. I was really happy in France with my friends, living with my mother and my little sister, when my grandmother in England decided to die and leave her house and all her money to my sister, not me. I knew that woman had something against me. Anyway, my sister is too young to inherit the house and money, so until she turns 18 it belongs to my mother, so instead of selling the house, my mother dragged us all from the gorgeous warm sunny paradise that was the south of France where we lived in the most beautiful house in the most beautiful town to cold rainy London where we are living in an old dead lady's house. Great.
"Angel, I'm sorry, and I understand how you feel, I used to live in Paris before my parents moved to Toulouse with me,"
"No, dear mother, you do not understand," I exclaim, "Your parents did not force you to move to a different country because some old lady died,"
"Angel, I promise, you will learn to love London,"
I shake my head and turn away from her. I cannot be bothered to listen to this woman any longer, so I take my shoes off, head up to my cold empty room and go to bed.
The next day I storm downstairs in the grey blazer and even greyer skirt that is my school uniform. "Mum," I say as I grab a piece of bread,
"Angel," she replies,
"I am not wearing this,"
"Why not?"
"It's disgusting,"
"Angel,"
"No, really, it is disgusting," I peer down at it, "I have never had to wear a school uniform in my life, and the first one I wear contains possibly the most ugly clothes on this earth,"
She laughs at me. I stare back at her, deadly serious, "I am not joking," I say. Just as I am about to start on a rant, my little sister Celeste comes in.
"Bonjour Celeste," my mother says, and passes her a piece of toast,
"Bonjour Mamon," Celeste replies. She's wearing jeans, a blue top and a purple hoody, and her short brown hair is in two plaits at the sides of her face. It's her first day of school as well, only she gets to go to the French école, rather than the English secondary school. Celeste turns to me with a smug look on her face. She's delighted about the fact that I have to go to the English school, and she knows how much I hate this place.
"So Celeste, how excited are you about school with a bunch of strange kids.You know I heard they ignore you for the whole of your first week at school here" I say very quickly in an extremely slurred voice. Celeste gives me a blank look. I smile at her, "Good luck in English class," I say, slowly this time, as if I am talking to a toddler. Celeste sticks out her tongue at me, revealing a mouth full of chewed up toast, "Ew! Celeste! You're so disgusting!" I laugh. Just as I'm about to retaliate with a cereal throwing fight, my mother clears her throat. I turn around and smile innocently, "Yes?" I say,
She points at the clock, "Shouldn't you get going?" she says. I look up the clock,
"Merde, you're right, I wouldn't want to be late," I say sarcastically. She throws me a disapproving look and crosses her arms, "Alright I'm going," I roll my eyes, "Goodbye Celeste, have fun," I say as I throw my bag over my shoulder. I rush to the hallway and take one more quick look in the mirror. Everything seems good. I shout goodbye, then walk out of the house. I shut the large oak door behind me, pushing with all my strength. I will never get used to how heavy it is. I close my eyes, and take in a deep breath of the wonderful smoky polluted air of London. How lovely. I start walking down the steps and out of the driveway. I really should close the gate, but I'm too much of a rebel for that. I look around, taking in all the gorgeous local sights. It's the middle of winter, so the trees have shed all their leaves which have blown away already. No green of spring or summer, not gorgeous deep red of autumn, just brown tree branches. The street is completely deserted apart from one boy standing across the road from me. I look closely at him. I'm sure I recognise him from somewhere. I decide to cross the road casually just to see if I can get a closer look. As soon as the boy sees me coming he walks in the opposite direction. Surely this uniform isn't that bad? I shrug, and turn away. Not that important, probably just déjà vu. I turn around and look over my shoulder. The boy is standing still again, just watching me. Not smiling, not trying to make eye contact, just watching. I shiver, and I know it's not because of the cold. I look away from the boy, and decide just to get out of there as soon as possible.
YOU ARE READING
Fallen Angel
Science Fiction“Who are you,” I whisper. He stares down at me, tears filling his eyes, “Who are you,” I repeat, more strongly this time. He carries on just looking at me, “Angel, I’m sorry,” he whispers, “Who are you!” I yell, “You already know,” he says Angel has...
