Daddy's Girl

Chapter Three: Yes Sir

OMG HI! I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU IN AGES! HOW'S IT GOING?!? ...sorry, I ate chocolate today. Note to people: do not give Angel large quantities of chocolate, and then let her write messages to her readers. Nothing good every comes out of it XP

So anyways, my lovelies, I have some sad news...oh wipe that look off your face, nobody's dead.

This is going to be my last update for a little while. I have too many stories running, and this story is one of the stories that are being put on hold. Sorry!

Wait, don't be sad...

I might continue this story, on a few conditions...

No, I'm not going to tell you just yet.

Read the chapter, the author's note at the end has the conditions.

So...enjoy!

Daddy's Girl

Chapter Three

Yes Sir

"Emilie Harton," my father roared for the third time from his position at the bottom of the steps. "Get downstairs RIGHT. NOW. And make breakfast for Cara and her friends." I moaned and shoved a pillow over my ears. I stayed that way for a moment, before dragging myself out of bed and into the bathroom, where I splashed water on my face, brushed my teeth, and combed my hair. Then, I threw on some of the first clothes I saw in my closet, before racing down the stairs two at a time.

"What can I get you guys?" I asked Cara and company from my position in the kitchen. They all shouted out what they wanted, and I grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil to write it all down.

Half an hour later, I laid down the last of the silverware, and stepped back to survey my handiwork. 5 plates with piles of heaping food, and a neatly set table, sat before me. "Girls," I called, "Food's ready." They were on the meal like hungry dogs. Food that had taken me fifteen minutes to prepare was gone in fifteen seconds. Then they disappeared into the den to watch television, not one of them bothering to say 'thank you.' "Thanks Emilie," I mutter. "No problem, my pleasure...Emilie." Grumbling to myself, I move about the kitchen, cleaning up here and there. When I'm finished, I dart upstairs before my father can see me and trap me into doing MORE work for him. I manage to get about an hour of time to myself, listening to my iPod.

Yes, even though my father hates me, I have an iPod. My dad knows I have it too. I hide it often, so he can't take it away, but whenever he sees it, I always manage to make up some story about a Christmas when he was drunk and gave me the money to buy it. I don't get an A+ in my high school drama class for nothing. Unlike most high school, Woodview High School has a VERY prestigious drama program. I starred in several of the plays and musicals there, though making up excuses ended up being too much of a chore, and so now I don't even bother. It keeps things more in balance that way, the thespians quickly recovered from my absence, and I returned to my not-so-normal lifestyle.

Even so, I do miss it sometimes. I still have dreams, you know, playing Annie Get Your Gun's Annie Oakley on Broadway, instead of just a high school stage, where it doesn't matter that your family isn't there, because everyone wants your autograph. Where you don't have to walk home all alone, in the cold, and sneak upstairs and pray that no one hears you, because you're living in an apartment on your own, or with a friend. Ah, well, dreams will stay dreams, I guess, instead of reality, thanks to one very nasty man, in charge of me until I'm eighteen, ladies and gentlemen, my...

"Emilie! Get down here now!"

...dad.

So...requirements for this story to NOT be put on hold.

I'm going to band camp for a week, and I get back on Saturday, 8/6.

So...I need...

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I must be off, but remember...8/9...

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<3 Angel