Just Another Stereotypical Road to Nowhere

Chapter 1

This is rated PG-13 for language, violence, and/or sexual content that may or may not appear.

~themagicmeow~

My parents always wanted a son. A bouncing baby boy. They had been told that they wouldn’t be able to have any more children after the difficult birth of my sister, so when my mother got pregnant with me my parents were overjoyed. When the doctor said that I was a boy during the ultrasound, my parents were ecstatic. Until, that is, the day I was born. Until the doctor said, “I’m sorry, it seems that I’ve made a mistake. Congratulations on having a healthy baby girl”. In a few short seconds my father’s dream of being the father of the star quarterback was crushed.

That was the first in a long line of disappointments. At a young age I showed severe distaste for the color pink and anything girly, so my mother’s hope of having another perfect little princess was thrown out the window. My mother modified her dreams, trying to mold me into the perfect cheerleader. Which, of course, was never to be. I hate the preppy, overly-enthusiastic girls who are all smiles until they have you cornered and alone.

The cheerleading squad at my school is the root of all my problems. They have a problem with the way I look, so they tell their football player boyfriends about things that I’ve supposedly done to them. So the idiot jocks get mad. You know that thing about not hitting girls? Apparently that doesn’t apply when you’re ‘the emo loner chick’. It’s bad enough that the most popular students hate me, but they set the example for the rest of the school. Everyone follows them blindly, like lemmings, and do their best to make my life horrible. I must say that they do a pretty good job of it. Combine school and my family and you’ve got a match made in, well, hell.

As I mentioned earlier, my parents have always been disappointed in me because I’m nothing like the rest of the family. My mother, Yesenia: the tall, blond, perky hairdresser who looks years younger than she actually is from numerous trips to the plastic surgeon. My father, Daniel: the tall, brown-haired, intimidating lawyer. My five years older sister, Mallory: the perfect blond princess who probably doesn’t have more than three brain cells. Me, Jamilla: the short outcast with dyed burgundy hair. Personally, I hate my name. Jamilla sounds so...gross, which is why I have opted for the much better Jamie.

If you haven’t guessed, I don’t get along well with my family. There is a chilly iceberg between us, but sometimes we fight, and all hell breaks loose when it does. That’s what happened last Thursday. That's what happened on the day that my parents died.