Garthia: The Forgotten King

Chapter One

Hi stranger!! I really hope you decide to read my book! It has been a long time since I've updated it and there are probably a lot of mistakes, but I'm thinking of starting it up again. Please remember comment and vote!

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~Chapter One

"Don't tell me that's what you're wearing," Eveline remarks when I show her my plain prom dress, looking it up and down with disgust. "You could do so much better, Hayden."

"It's all I have." I shove it back in my nearly-empty closet. I sit on my bed with a sigh. Prom is in less than a week, and the only dress I have is too simple, too long, and, honestly, not that attractive. But it's the only dress I own. If I had it my way, I'd wear a graphic tee, vans, and jeans, but, sadly, I don't.

Eveline has always been the fashionista in our relationship since it first began one day in kindergarten, when she commented on my shirt that she said was "so two years ago." Ironically, we've been friends ever since. We're polar opposites. Her exotic and outgoing style is much more appealing than my "I'm too lazy to keep up with the latest trends, so I just wear a bunch of old T-shirts" style.

"Then we need to go shopping," Eveline-I call her Eve-sweeps her long, chestnut hair over her shoulder with the effortless beauty and grace of a model. If I tried to do that, it would look like I'm trying to swat away a bunch of frizzy brown bees that are buzzing around my head. Eve sashays over and grabs my wrist. "And when I say shopping I mean rummaging through my old clothes." She pulls me to my feet and drags me out the bedroom door.

My family lives in the only tiny house in a large suburban neighborhood in Charleston, South Carolina. Our dilapidated traditional home is dwarfed by the modern mansions that make up the neighborhood. Why this is the only average home, I don't know. I asked my late mother once when I was six, but all she said was it belonged in the family, and to tear down this place would be like destroying our heritage, and blah, blah, family, blah, blah, pride. I wasn't really listening to the rest. In my early years, I had the attention span of a peanut.

Anyway, I guess the only reason my family really wants to stay here is because it's already paid for, and we're all basically dirt poor. But the only reason I want to stay is because my best friend Eve lives right next door.

Eve drags me down the creaky stairs and out the front door. I wriggle my wrist from her grasp when we emerge from the house into the scorching afternoon sun, but she just keeps running over to her house that flanks mine on the right.

No matter how many times I walk next door, just the sheer size of her house always knocks me off balance. Her house is one of those boxy ones with the nice crisp lines and edges. The shade of white is almost blinding in the bright sunlight, and a shiny blue Mustang is parked in the driveway. I pause for a moment in awe before continuing after Eve to the front door.

When I walk in, I'm met by the delicious coolness of the air conditioning. I may have been in the sun for only a minute, but this is one of the hottest years that we've had here.

Eve's parents are in the living room, sitting on the new-looking white couch, which joins the rest of the white furniture. "Hello girls." her mom says with a practiced smile, as if she's been forced to smile a lot.

Both of Eve's parents have the same model look that she does, but their's seems more forced than natural. Eve's mom has perfectly-straightened caramel hair and clear blue eyes like her daughter, and her dad has neatly-combed fair hair tied back into a ponytail, and dark eyes. (Her dad actually makes a pony tail look attractive and not trashy like some men look.) Both are dressed like they're going to a fancy dinner, as always.

They smile at us when we walk in, but Eve just continues up the stairs without even looking at them. She's usually like this with her parents: she tends to act like they're not there, hoping that if she ignores them they'll leave her alone. Her parents frown, and I smile at them apologetically-as if it's my fault-and rush after Eve.

When I reach her, she's already looking through her tub of old clothes, scanning things then tossing them over her shoulder, where they settle onto the carpeted floor like delicate falling leaves. She keeps murmuring things like "too frilly" or "too sparkly." I silently walk over and sit at her desk-I try not to disturb her while she's "in the zone."-and pull out my phone and start playing Minecraft. I'm nearly finished building my farm when Eve yells, "Got it!" causing me to accidentally murder one of my pigs.

I shut off my phone and look up. Eve is holding up a sleeveless turquoise dress, probably about knee-length, with a white lace sash around the waist. She grins at me. "Is this simple enough for you?"

I like the dress. It's really pretty. There's only one problem: I can't pull it off. I can't pull off dresses, period. The only reason I'm wearing a dress at all is because Eve is making me. However, I do my best to smile sincerely and say, "I love it."

Eve squeals with joy and jumps to her feet. "I knew you would!" she exclaims, and tosses the dress into my lap. "Now try it on!"

>>>

6 days later. Friday, May 30th. 6:43 P.M.

I stare at my reflection in the cracked mirror in my room. The dress Eve gave me fits as well as it did the first time I tried it on: perfectly. I don't know what it is, but Eve always know what will work for me and what won't.

I think I look decent. Eve did my hair and makeup and gave me some cute white flats, (I can't walk in high heels) but, as usual, I look like garbage compared to Eve.

She's standing behind me in her elegant, navy blue gown, looking at both of us in the mirror. She grins her iconic grin, which is her sign to me that she's pleased with how I look. "You look gorgeous." she compliments.

"You too." I never complain about how I look to her. Actually, I never really complain about anything. Or I try not to. I may sound a bit whiny some times, especially when it comes to money, but that's to be expected from a seventeen-year-old teenage girl.

"Are you girls ready?" my dad shouts from the bottom of the stairs.

"Yes, sir!" I call back as I walk out of my room and start down the stairs, with Eve not far behind. My dad is waiting for us when we reach the bottom. He hasn't gotten out of his Verizon uniform yet, since he just got back from work a few minutes ago. (I stay home by myself a lot because my dad gets home late, and my mom is, well, dead.) He grins at us, a look of pride in his eyes. "You both look beautiful."

Thanks." I say automatically as Eve simultaneously chirps, "Thank you, Mr. Blakely!"

He chuckles. "You're welcome, girls." He glances down at his watch, then looks back at us. "We better go. You don't want to be late." I follow him out the door.

>>>

This year's theme for Junior Prom is Starry Night. The Richmond Academy gymnasium is filled with dozens of twinkling stars and streamers in all shades of blue. Tons of multi-colored lights illuminate the dance floor making the dancing students shimmer. The planning committee really outdid themselves this year.

When Eve and I walk in, "I Got A Feeling" by the Black Eyed Peas-which is played every year no matter what-is playing, and everyone is on the dance floor. I can't fight the feeling that everyone's eyes are on me, even though I know they aren't. I always feel like that in public. Especially in a dress. I pull down the hem of my dress self-consciously.

"Wanna go dance?" Eve asks loudly over the music. We don't have dates. Eve says it's because it's better to go as friends, but I know she just feels bad for me because I didn't get asked. She had to turn at least ten boys down.

I nod and we melt into the crowd of dancers.