One Black Heart

Chapter 1

I sit on the edge of my seat, eating my chicken parmesan slowly. My disconnected family sits opposite me, gravitating together and away from me as if I were a contagious disease and not their own daughter or sister.

            “So, honey,” my mother, Mariana Marine, directs towards my ‘angel’ of a sister, Melody Marine. “How was school today? First days always the worst, am I right?” Mariana asks, completely ignoring the fact that it was my first day of school too.

            You see, my parents like to ignore the fact that I am their child, and not just Melody. Why? Because I’m not smart like Melody; I'm not nice like Melody.I’m not pretty like Melody; I look like I'm adopted. I’m not charitable like Melody; I’m not interesting like Melody. Basically, they ignore me because I am not Melody.

            Melody chews thoughtfully, swallowing before answering, “It wasn’t bad, mom. It was pretty fun, actually. Grade twelve will be so cool! Especially at a new school! Oh, this year is going to be the best yet.”

            Okay, so Melody was accepted to Winston’s Academy for the Intellectually Gifted. It’s a highly recognized school. Practically everyone that attends receives a scholarship for a really, really good university.

            I, Bree Marine, attend the public high school for our area, Allen S. High School. You know, because I’m of normal intelligence, except for the fact that I’ve failed both Science and Math and need to repeat both.

            My father, Mark Marine clears his throat, smiling proudly at Melody. “That’s great, honey!” Mark exclaims enthusiastically, giving Melody a high five. “Have you thought about universities yet? I still think you should attend University of Waterloo like your mother and I. It’s a good university, love.”

            There he goes again. He does this every night; tries to convince Melody to go to University of Waterloo.  And the answer is always the same, “Daddy, I would love to! But I’m going to wait for the offers to come in, first.”

            Melody has a really big head, she’s cocky to the point that you want to kill her. Melody is confident she will be valedictorian. She shuts down everyone that thinks otherwise, and has even made it her social status on Twitter for her three thousand nine hundred eighty two followers to see, on Facebook for her nine hundred eighty three friends to see, on MSN for her three hundred one followers to see, and on Blackberry messenger for her four hundred contacts to see.

            That’s one of the thousand differences between Melody and I. While I’m modest, Melody is cocky. While I have curly, frizzy blonde hair, Melody has wavy, smooth hair. While I’m tall and lean, Melody is petite and curvy. While I have imperfect teeth that require braces, Melody has naturally perfect, white teeth. While I’m approaching a large size ten shoes, Melody stays a small seven and a half. While I have a shitty LG Neon, Melody has the newest Blackberry every month. While I – well, I think you get my point. We’re completely different in every possible way.

            Mark taps the table in frustration, annoyance and disappointment. He’s been trying so hard but Melody keeps shutting him down because of her cockiness. I actually sort of feel bad for him, but those feeling disappear when I remember if I were in his position, he probably wouldn’t care about me.

            “Okay, honey,” Mark says, disappointed still. “Just know that whatever university you choose, whatever path you take, I will be supportive every step of the way.” Melody nods, smiling, patting Mark’s shoulder, thoughtfully. “Bree?”

            I flinch at the use of my name. The name ‘Bree’ is hardly ever used at the dinner table. “Uh, yeah?” I ask, completely caught off guard by my sudden inclusion in the conversation. I plaster on a fake smile, trying to look at least a little friendly. “I mean, yeah, Dad?” Oh how I hate using that word. For all I’m concerned, I don’t even have a father…or a mother…or a sister…

            “Okay, I was just wondering if you were still breathing. We’re good,” Mark says, laughing a little at his attempt of a joke. Mariana joins in on the laughter, followed by Melody and soon the dining room is echoing with everyone’s laughter except my own.

            I get up abruptly, shoving my chair back in the process. “Good night, Mark, Mariana, Melody. Glad to see I’m important enough to be included in your conversation for two seconds before you tease me.” I pick up my plate, run over to the sink and slam it in without rinsing it. I walk out of the room; my back to my family’s shocked expressions.

            “But honey…,” Mariana’s voice drifts after me.

            “C’mon, sis! We’re just joking around,” Melody calls next. 

            I roll my eyes at the ceiling in the hall. “Bullshit!” I yell back.

            “LANGUAGE, BREE!” Mark screams as I continue down the hallway.

            Turning left to go up the spiraling stairs, I say, “Like you care.” I reach the top and turn into the door on the very first left. “Now, good night!” I shriek, slamming my door as hard as possible.

            I hear protests from downstairs but I ignore them completely, just standing in the middle of my insanely boring room. Plain black walls with white trim, a plain wood  bed with a plain black comforter and two pillows, a plain desk with three top bunks and a plain wooden dress with nothing on it, to match the rest of my room.

            As far as accessories go, I have one picture frame with a photo of my best childhood friend who I lost when we moved cities in grade two. We were inseparable, but of course, my parents found a way to ruin my life in yet another way. I have a small hundred dollar television with a second hand DVD player which I had to pay for myself and a three hundred dollar mini-laptop that is broken beyond repair which, once again, I had to pay for myself.

            My room is bipolar opposite of Melody’s. Melody’s room is bright pink with purple trim, she has a canopy bed with a hot pink comforter and, like, ten purple pillows, she has a walk in closet, a dresser that matches her bed, and an extravagant desk. The biggest difference, you may ask? She actually had a choice in what she had done in her room.

            Melody has two times the accessories I have, and she didn’t have to pay a penny. I spent four hundred dollars and Mark and Mariana paid four thousand dollars for Melody’s stuff. Melody has a MacBook Air, two flat irons because blue ‘didn’t suit her mood’, one curling iron, a million pictures plastered on her wall of her and her million friends, a plasma screen television mounted on her wall, and a home phone next to her iPod dock complete with an iPod fourth generation.

            Yes, it is safe to say Melody Marie Marine is a spoiled brat to rival America’s Angel.

            I lie down in my bed, facing the ceiling. “Why is my life so shitty? I have no friends, my family doesn’t give a shit and I’m bullied. What the hell do I have to live for?” I ask no one but myself. But even when I ask myself that, there’s a small part of me screaming to just give it some time.

            Oh dear god do I ever hope its right.