fences

1

Alexandra

"Booger Crap!" I whisper-yell as my pencil snaps mid sentence. I was so close to finishing that verse in a song I was writing.

I love to write. My old composition book is filled with lyrics and composes that I make with my guitar. Mom never approves of me writing so much.

At least, when she's sober enough to say she approves.

I guess the librarian heard me, because she comes over to tell me I've been sitting in here too long.

I sigh and gather my belongings, dreading what's going to happen at home. Hopefully I can find something in the fridge to calm mom down.

As they say, food solves all life problems.

•

"Alexandra! Go get my Scotch out the fridge. I had a long ass day at work. I don't have time for ungrateful children." my mom is screaming from her bedroom, already raging with alcohol in her veins.

I close my notebook, and walk slowly to the kitchen. Passing her door, I can hear her on the phone.

"Yeah baby, I'll come over tomorrow." she purrs.

Probably another boyfriend.

The scotch isn't hard to find since it's always in front of the fridge.

I slowly walk past the living room. Admiring the young photos of my mom I hung up on the walls.

Her skin was smooth and a deep brown. My moms hair was a deep brown, and the curls were kinky and short.

She looked so healthy and fit. Now, she was skinny and frail. The liquor slowly killing her.

I wish she'd just realize she isn't hurting anyone else but herself, that she isn't helping her problems go away.

I knock twice on her bedroom door, and wait a few seconds before twisting the knob and walking in.

"Mom?" I start to get scared as I see her passed out on the bed. I wait a few seconds before I finally see her chest rise and I breathe a sigh of relief.

I place the bottle of scotch on her nightstand and walk back to my room.

Tomorrow will bring another day. Another chance that my mom won't take to turn her life around.

•

"Alexandra Mabelle! Get yo' lazy ass up for school!" my mom screams into my ear.

I grunt and push the covers off my body. I stayed up until 3am finishing a poem.

I regret nothing.

I quickly dress in blue jeans and a cream t-shirt, keeping my outfit simple. I let my hair out in it's natural short girls, but I rub a little mousse into it to keep it from developing frizz.

I wear my old black Chuck Taylor's with white socks, and grab my black off shoulder backpack and leave the apartment.

Not before hiding the half empty bottle of scotch under the kitchen sink and dumping the whole bottle of vodka down the drain.

If mom wanted to drink, she would have to work for it.

Whoops, very unfortunate for her, isn't it?

•

I loved walking to school, it gave me time to relish in the beauty of the morning.

It gave me a sense of happiness, instead of being inside listening to my mother cursing under the influence.

I slowly take step after step to school, watching my feet move. I hear a beat coming out of my walking rhythm, and start humming. I twirl every few steps, enjoying the feel of the rhythm through me.

Little moments like these help me enjoy life. Little moments like these, keep me sane.

•

Walking through the hallways of school, I go completely unnoticed. Not that I mind.

I wonder if it's my skin, or my basic clothes, or just my personality.

I don't have any friends, and I mostly choose not to have any. I remember the last time I decided to make a friend.

Casey Weston. Current Queen Bee of school. Forever my ex-bestfriend.

Her image oozes money, and everything more. She's a bottle redhead and I'm pretty sure her "hazel" eyes come from the local Four Eyes.

Now that I look back on our friendship, I realize I was always putting in, and after she betrayed me at her birthday party, I never saw the reason for friends. I still remember that terrible moment, like a stuck record.

I can feel the embarrassment crawling up from my stomach and lodging itself into my brain.

I make it to my locker, where I stuff my Chemistry textbook and switch it for my History one.

I watch as Casey prowls the hallway, giving disapproving looks to girl who seem to have a "lower standard" than her.

I scoff to myself. Can you blame me?

More students flood the hallway as I stand by my locker, writing in my notebook.

"Look! It's Logan!"

"He's so hot!"

"Don't say that in front of Casey."

"He's a bad influence."

"I don't care I'd take him anyway."

I look up from my current work, and realize Logan Marx is strolling down the hallway.

His dark jeans at his hips, and his black t-shirt secure on his muscles.

His hair was a medium shade of brown, like chestnuts. From the distance I was standing away, I noticed his eyes were a deep shade of green with a few streaks of colors I couldn't make out.

I'll be a girl here, he's hot. But the whole school population knows Casey is head over heels for him. It doesn't seem like he'd be my type either.

The whole school doesn't even know I exist, there's no chance in hell.

The homeroom bell rings, and I close my locker.

Another day, another chance.

•

894 words

{A/N: I know it's short but I like it. And I think I'm going to use Logan's POV next, or not. Welcome to my new book. Vote, Comment, and share. I appreciate it a lot.}