Her Last Hope

Chapter One

These kinds of things didn’t happen to girls like me. I’m the girl you pass in the hallway and never notice she’s there. I’m the girl whose books always miraculously end up on the floor after the bell rings. I’m also the girl whose name just got chosen as one of the winners of Springfield’s yearly writing contest. Now, before you slam this book shut, slide it back onto its slot on the shelf, and stalk out of the library in a huff, hear me out. This is huge for me; I’ve never won anything in my entire seventeen years of life on this planet. Having come from a family filled to the brim with highly educated individuals, much was expected of me. After my SAT scores returned, however, everything changed. I couldn’t get into the college my parents wanted me to attend, I couldn’t study medicine like my aunt desired, and I couldn’t measure up once again to the perfection that is my older sister, Samantha. Again, you’re probably thinking, “Why do I care about the musings of a seventeen year old kid? This is pointless.” In a way, I agree with you. Who would want to devote a week or two to reading about a whiny teen complain about how her life sucks because she can’t do everything everyone wants her to do? Well, obviously you do since you read this far.

Alright, back to the whole, “I won a writing contest” spiel. It was a gloomy Monday afternoon and I lacked the inspiration most people need to get anything done on days like this. I sat with my back against the wall in my room, head in my hands, eyes focused on the raindrops playing tag with one another on my window. As the wind began to pick up, tossing trash and leaves all over the street, a neon pink piece of paper caught my eye. I couldn’t help but notice it as it fluttered gracefully, carried by the harsh wind, while the other trash flew clumsily. I stood up quickly and opened my window, stretching my hand out to reach for what would become my holy grail. After about ten minutes of thrashing my fingers wildly against the wind, reaching for the paper, I got it. I hastily closed the window and retreated back to my corner against the wall.

“What the heck is this,” I asked myself as I turned it over to reveal the words clinging helplessly to the soggy paper. I flattened it out against my thigh and leaned down so I could see it a bit better. It was advertising an upcoming writing contest with the reward being a trip to visit an author of your choosing at the annual writer’s convention in California. The writing could be about anything, as long as it was original and over one thousand and five hundred words.

“I could do this, I could really do this!” I said aloud. The contest entries had to be mailed in by June 1st to receive judgment, and the results would be out no later than the 30th of that same month. Just as I reached for my purple notebook to begin brainstorming, I heard the familiarly nasal voice of my older sister.

“Quilla, come get dinner!” Samantha called up to me.

“Alright, I’ll just be a second!”

I quickly folded up the neon pink paper and shoved it into my notebook. This was the golden opportunity for me to prove to my family that I wasn’t a complete failure because I didn’t get a perfect score on my SAT like Samantha. That I didn’t have to go into medicine to be successful like my aunt believed. That I could do something I loved and not lead a life of quiet desperation like Thoreau wrote about. I could do this.

“Quilla, get down here. Some of us would like to eat, y’know!” Samantha screeched as she poked her head up the staircase.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming. Would you mind not yelling like that so much? You’re disturbing my positive energy,” I responded as I bounded down the stairs. Nothing and no one could shatter my newfound confidence.

“What are you so smiley about?” My father asked as he reached for the bowl full of rolls at the end of the table.

“Don’t reach across the table, dear,” my mother promptly reminded him.

“Right, sorry,” he said absentmindedly as he finally seized the bread. “You didn’t answer my question, Quilla.”

“Oh, right,” I muttered, my mouth full of linguini pasta, “nothing out of the ordinary, just happy about life and all that.” I swallowed the pasta and stared down at my lap, twiddling my thumbs.

“She’s definitely lying. We learnt how to tell when someone isn’t telling you the entire truth in my psychology class,” Samantha retorted, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips.

“How exactly do you tell if someone is lying or not, I’m dying to know,” I shot back, elbows resting on the table.

“Elbows off of the table, darling,” my mother said, her eyes focused on the plate of pasta in front of her.

This was a daily occurrence at the Knight household. Samantha always had to prove to my parents that she was the better child. She challenged anything you said, using large words and witty comebacks to make you feel inferior. I hated it.

“Well,” she began, wiping her mouth daintily with a napkin, “the fact that you’re sweating in an air conditioned room, and that you can’t seem to look me or anyone in the eye is a clear indicator.”

“May I be excused?” I asked, shoving my chair back angrily. “I’m not in the mood to deal with this right now, or ever.”

I threw my napkin down and stalked up the stairs.

“…not my fault she gets so upset,” I heard my sister whisper.

“You could be a bit nicer, Sam,” my mom responded, “you know it pains her to see how smart you are.”

“You guys are sisters, not communists. Work something out, and do it fast; the game’s coming on later tonight and I don’t wanna hear any bickering.”

I heard the remaining chairs scrape across the floor, the stacking of dishes, and then the light footsteps of Sam. I darted into my room and locked the door. I was getting tired of dealing with the constant negative remarks from my own family. Something had to give, and fast.

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Alright, that's all for the first part! I hope you liked it and if you don't mind please comment, vote, and fan the story if you enjoyed it. I'll post another part soon. Thank you!