🍨🍦Think about the title before you read:) Btw I might not write a whole lot for these chapters. Make sure to comment and vote, and of course, read while you're at it! There' s a picture to the side>>>>>>>>> or above^^^^^^^^🍨🍦
Chapter1:Meeting Megan
I can hear the words being scribbled in between the thin blue lines on the first page. The point of the pencil was sharp, but I didn't mind. I would hate to be written on with just a blunt of a pencil, that would be disrespectful. I thought about reading the words that were being written, but I figured that there would be plenty of time to do that later. Instead I stared at the determined girl in front of me, furrowed eyebrows and dark brown, frizzy hair pushed behind her ears. Her glasses had a glint of light from the small, desk lamp.
I was taken away, with the last words I heard from my mother, echoing in my ears, 'You need more than one spiral to keep you up and hold you together. And sometimes, if you look closely and carefully, they'll be right in front of you, cover to cover.'
I couldn't quite grasp what she meant until I reached the counter to have the cashier check me out, along with a jumbo package of blue and purple Dixon Ticonderoga pencils and an electric sharpener, but I realized she meant to find someone whom I could depend on and I could return the favor to. But it felt like there was so much more meaning to that, so much more potential to those words than what my mother was implying.
At the moment, I was trying to think up the many things it could apply to, when I realized who my mother was giving me that advice after. My father, a purple, Five Star notebook, college ruled with two hundred sheets. My mother told me to never fall for fancy logos, because you never know what lies behind the cover and in between the pages.
Basically, my father left my mother and when I was a newly made notebook, freshly cut pages and a perfect spiral binding in a navy blue, Five Star notebook and five subject notebook with a page count of two hundred, along with eight handy pockets.
My mother told me I was one of the lucky ones. Some people have a page count of eighty sheets, barely worth a spiral binding, and from an unknown brand. Of course, she didn't mean to insult the others, but life is what it is.
Sometimes, I would sit in our cardboard box at Wal-Mart's beside my mother, and she would tell me stories. Some good, and some bad. The good ones were about how more notebooks would be bought in early September and late August by a new owner. And the bad ones included tragedies humans made for notebooks. Filling in a few pages and throwing them away, crushing them in bags or lockers, only being used for ripping out pages, not being used at all and somehow getting lost, the bottom of the spiral undoing itself, and a lot more which were mainly about wasting and ruining notebooks.
Suddenly, Megan stops writing, and forms a puzzled look on her face. "Crap. I lost my idea." she said, flipping me to the front and closing the cover.
Megan slams her pencil onto the desk with a groan. Then, she kicks a leg of the desk and yelps in pain, grabbing her foot. The shaking desk causes the pencil to roll and hit against my spiral side. Typical human.
I have experienced many emotional outbursts, cries, weird reaction, and much more just by sitting on the shelves. Your boyfriend broke up with you? Oh no. How will you live? You don't have anything to wear to tonight's party? What a tragic disaster! The shoes you want are too expensive? You poor dear! Your crush didn't like your photo on Facebook? THE WORLD HAS ENDED!!
Megan turns off the desk lamp and sits down on the silky lavender comforter smoothed out on her bed. She stare at me, as if her mind is trying to create something, or receive an image. Occasionally, she mumbles a little 'What if...' or 'Maybe if...' or 'That would be...'.
I try to decide what I think of Megan. She seems like a nice girl. But, when she gets confused, she might get very frustrated. Well, that's all right for me, but if she ever turns into one of those dramatic, emotional, and cliché teenagers, no one will ever hear the end of me.
Eventually, she draws the curtains, slides under the comforter, closes her eyes, and then the corners of her mouth curl upwards, forming a small, innocent smile.
Feeling well rested and bored, I start reading the words Megan had written already. I read them slowly, to understand the details. This is what it read in the space above the first blue line: Title:(still developing), Main Character:(in the process), Setting/Time: Future? An organized society with a reasonable climate. Then, the story finally started, ' "What matters most is our health. If we hurt our own health, we will be risking the well being of others........'
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I had started reading the first page, an felt a little drowsy, and fell asleep. At some point, I stopped reading, but now I feel a little guilty about it. I wake up to see Megan stuffing her things in a black, small bag.
A lady walks into the room, whom I assume is Megan's mother. Except, she didn't look anything like Megan. Megan look a an innocent, fragile girl, with her dark hair straight when brushed, and her big brown eyes look like they take over the lenses of her glasses, her small nose similar to a bunny's. A delicate smile placed on her fair skin, right below her nose.
This lady, (at least, I hope she was a lady) was very strange looking thing. Her jet black is crimmped in a weird way, like she placed it inside of a waffle maker to curl it. Her cheeks wear a deep shade of blossoms, they brushed in waves to the sides of her face. A gloppy, black liquid was almost dripping from her eyelashes and the edges of her eyes. The only decent parts are that a light pink covered the rest of her eyelids, and a light gloss also covered her lips. She could look pretty, from a distance. She's like a Barbie witch.
What relationship could Megan have to....that?
"Megan, honey. Are you ready to go to Mommy's house?" the Barbie witch asks Megan in a baby voice. Puh-leez. Megan is at least fourteen years old.
Well, at least she's not related to her.
Megan just nods as an answer, not looking at the Barbie-witch, but at me, upon the wooden desk.
The Barbie witch rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Anyways, Adam wanted me to ask if you could eat cereal before you go," she says.
"No thank you. The last time you made cereal you blew up the microwave. Then you still made me eat it. It tasted funny. I don't think you're supposed to put salt in cereal, Lucy," Megan says, trying not to be rude.
"Don't talk to me with that attitude you little-"
"Don't swear. I'll tell dad," Megan warns, cutting the Barbie- Lucy, I mean, off.
"Oh please. Like Adam even cares about you anymore. I'm just waiting for the day that old hag takes you in for good," she says.
"Old hag? Have you seen yourself in the mirror lately? You look like a painting of turds gone wrong," Megan scoffs.
Oh snap. You go girl!
"Like you would know anything about being decent to look at." Lucy mumbles, almost as if she couldn't come up with a better comeback, then walks out of the room.
The name 'Lucy' doesn't fit her personality. I prefer calling her Barbie witch.
Megan groans and looks at me again. "You, are probably the only thing in this house I don't despise." She picks her bag up, walks over to me, picks me up, hugs me to her chest tightly, and walks out of the room.
Looks like I'm going on an adventure.
Whoo. What'd you think. And please don't tell me if you think it's bad, I don't really think I would care.
