Zendaya Coleman.
It was quiet, really quiet. That type of silence where you could only hear the clock ticking.
Well, it was the middle of the week, and it was extremely hot today, so I guess that I also wouldn't be caught dead walking in the street today. I shrugged and pulled out my books, placing them atop the counter.
If nobody was going to come, I may as well continue making my study notes. University was no joke, at all.
I remember, I had just finished my last year of school, passed all my classes really well, and got accepted into every university or higher education institution that I had applied to, even though my heart is right here. I then took my amazing results and stepped into the building, oozing confidence, happiness, and overall excitement.
But then I also remember coming home that very same day, oozing tiredness, grumpiness, and most disgusting of all, sweat. It was a really hot city, what can I say?
In the winter, it was hot, but in the summer... you'd die if you attempted to put on a long sleeved shirt.
I picked out my highlighters and coloured pens, setting them aside before putting my pencil bag away. Everything had to be neat, or else I couldn't work. I then took out my writing pad and textbook, putting the rest of the books away.
After slipping on my glasses, I cracked my fingers and inhaled deeply, ready to get to work. Today was going to be the day that I broke down the hell chapter, summarized it, and studied the hell out of it.
I am not messing up this semester.
I made myself comfortable on the chair, but as soon as I began to write the heading, a voice interrupted me. "Zendaya!"
I kept quiet for a while. I had a "Number Three" system. If you didn't do it three times, then you didn't mean it.
"Zendaya!"
I again remained quiet. I had to make sure they were calling me.
Wow. As if there are any other Zendaya's around.
"Zendaya!"
I sigh and remove my glasses and close the highlighter, tossing it back onto the counter. "Coming Ma!" I yell before my mother just starts getting on my nerves with all of that calling.
I make my way to the basement from where she's calling, and see her there, a hand placed on her hip, and one eyebrow lifted higher than the other. "Mom?"
"I know you heard me call you."
"And I know that you know that I have a three number system." I smirk as she rolls her eyes. "What's up?"
"This box." She huffs as she kicks the wooden box lying in the middle of the floor lightly. "I told your dad to move this out of the way a few days ago, but obviously he's hard of hearing." She smacks her lips together. "But he's too damn stubborn to move it. He'd rather just fall over it and be injured every single time."
"Daddy." I whine. I knew for a fact that that was not a box. It was a crate. And it was damn heavy. Why couldn't he just be a good husband and move the box?
"Come on." My mom urges as she nods at the crate. "Have at it. Put those noodle arms to use."
"My arms aren't that thin." I whine, and my mother chuckles.
"Just move the box."
I roll my eyes discreetly and lunge forward, making the biggest mistake. I thought that since I'd be lunging, I'd be putting all my strength in my body, being able to push the crate.
