The Days Of Kelsea's

(1) Kelsea ~ Monday 6th August, 9.00 pm: My room

(1) Kelsea - Monday 6th August, 9.00 pm: My room

Mum went mad today. I thought she was going to kill me. I mean, I've thought that loads of times. But today . . . It was so bad.

Everyone says, "Oh my God, my mum's gonna kill me," or, "Gosh, I thought she was going to kill me . . ."

But they're joking.

Exaggerating.

I actually did think that my mother was going to kill me, literally.

I mean, first off, she was making dinner and she was holding the sharpest, biggest knife in the whole box. And she was waving it at me, yelling, "I can't trust you anymore! How dare you walk in here and just say, 'Hey, what's up?' Where have you been for the past four hours?"

And secondly, that look in her eyes could have set fire to a whole building. It was just made of pure rage, pure anger and madness.

"I was with dad!" I yelled. I could feel my face growing red and angry and everything. It was awful. We hardly ever shout at each other, and I felt so angry and I wanted to smash something. Literally. Suddenly I just hated everything about my mother.

Oh, God. Did I just say that?

But that's what I felt. That's what made me throw the glass I was holding onto the floor, the Strawberry Ribena juice exploding everywhere. It all went in slow motion then - my mother gasped, and I just spun around on my heel, which felt like it took about two hours to do, and then I stormed off out into the hall, screaming angrily.

Without thinking, I was out of the front door in seconds. I had only just walked into the house and now I was walking back out again. And I didn't know where I was going. It was getting a little cold with a slight breeze and I was only wearing a vest top and shorts with Converse. I passed Alf and he looked a little horror-struck as he watched me walk past - probably because of the fiery expression on my face, and fiery expressions don't usually go well with fiery red hair, I bet.

But I didn't care. I kept speed-walking on, even though I felt like I should really go back and talk to Alf. I mean, he's so nice and everything, even if he is a little eccentric. He always asks me in that Irish accent how was school today and when I was younger he gave me these little house ornaments of what houses look like in Ireland. Most people think he's strange because his grey hair is long and he wears unusual hats and all, but that old man is really great to talk to.

The real lunatic on my road is that psycho, Kale Atticus. Without realising it at the time, I walked past him in my rage and it was only when I heard a low chuckle that I spun round, breathing heavily.

The guy was standing there, blond hair mussed and his bright blue eyes flashing, a smirk playing on his mouth. He just raised an eyebrow at me, and then gave me a crooked grin, leaning against his old truck.

"What?" I demanded, angrily. I was totally pissed off and I just wanted to go down to the corner shop and get a Coke and cool down, perhaps call Demi. I just watched him, and put a hand to my hip to pass the time. His eyes were now just travelling up and down me. Checking me out.

"I sense stress and anger," he said finally, coming forwards to the edge of his drive, and crossing his arms over his chest. He was still inspecting me . . . with that look.

"No shit," I had replied irritably, brushing a strand of my hair off my face. I just watched him as he raised an eyebrow carelessly. The guy has always annoyed me. Sure, he's as sexy as hell, alright. I know for certain that Demi lives to just see him walk everyday. And when he takes off his shirt, even the teachers stare. Okay, and don't even get me started on his voice.

But that's the thing about him. There's no modesty in there. Modesty is a foreign aspect of life to him. He takes pride in the jealousy he sees in guys' expressions who aren't as good looking at him, and he knows, oh, he knows, that any girl and every girl in this tiny little town wants him, whether it's a geek like Isobel Taylor or a popular bitch like Flora Nott.

"So you gonna tell me what happened?" he demanded, his mouth still twisted into a seductive smirk. I didn't even know where to look. The way he smirks is alluring. His eyes are just beautiful, full stop. If I look at his hair I'll want to touch it. And the rest of him? Oh, Lord.

So I decided to concentrate on a spot of grass on his lawn as I replied casually, "Well, I don't think that's any of your business." I have to admit that I'd almost forgotten about my incident with my mother, because he had put so many weird thoughts in my head.

But at my words, he just smirked, jerking an eyebrow up. "I thought you'd say that. You know, Kelsea, you're too predictable. That's your problem."

I scowled at him, then. Jerk. Everything that came out of his mouth was always obnoxious rubbish. "Get a life," I muttered, and then I walked away.

Okay, I'll only admit this in here. But for the rest of the afternoon I couldn't stop replaying our little encounter in my head. Thinking, does he smirk like that to everyone? It makes me want to punch him or stare at him in awe all at the same time. In other words, it sucks.

Anyway. I walked away from him, down to the shop. For some bizarre reason, Ms. Alton let me get a can of Coke for free and a packet of Smarties. I've always liked that woman. But she hasn't let me have free food from that shop since I was about twelve. Maybe I just looked really irritated and she felt sorry for me.

I walked across the road to the park, where some skater dudes from school were hanging around with skateboards. We stared at each other for a while and I consumed the things I had got, and it was pretty boring. No one was around.

But when I got back home, mum wasn't there. Lucy was sat at the table doing her homework. I noticed that on the tile on the floor around the area I dropped the glass of Ribena there was a small crack.

"Mum's mad," Lucy told me, in her little-girl voice, not even lifting her eyes from her homework. This girl makes me think, "Was I like that when I was thirteen?" She just does so much creeping, and is so perfect and little-girly, always doing her homework, always speaking to me as if she knows better and I'm just a lazy, arrogant seventeen year old.

"Never," I drawled sarcastically, rolling my eyes. I slumped into a seat opposite her at the table.

"Why don't you leave that homework until another time? Don't you get bored of coming home from school and then the minute you get in you have to do that crap?" I demanded, frustrated. "Hell, it's the summer holidays! Who does studying in the holidays?"

She looked up at me and just glared. That glare was icy. Gosh. "Well why do you leave all your work until the last minute?"

"Because then I'll be older, and therefore wiser, so I'll execute the task better." I just smirked at her, and she ignored me, unsurprisingly.

I've noticed that recently, the conversations with my sister haven't been as fun and interesting and friendly. It's always one of us questioning the other in a mean way and then the other one turning the question back around to the other. It's boring. We're losing our connection. I remember there was one point where we would think exactly the same things at exactly the same time. There's no communication between us these days.

It ain't fair.