Secretly Inlove//One Direction

Introduction: Meet Tuesday Lockart

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. 

Tuesday stole a glance at the clock hanging on top of her classroom's blackboard.

Everybody in the room held their breathe as the seconds ticked away- in a few minutes, school was over and summer would be upon them.

But unlike everybody else, Tuesday dreaded summer. 

She would have to work her part-time job at Starbucks, which wasn't that bad; supporting her family was the hard part.

Suddenly, the clock gave one last tick and chaos exploded.

Students jumped up from their seats, cheering and whooping. They grabbed their bags and rushed out of the classroom, getting ready to be hit in the face by their first summer wind. 

Tuesday grabbed her bag slowly and stared around the empty classroom sadly. 

Do your job well, a nagging voice said in her head. And you'll come back. 

The girl sighed and walked out of the classroom, her rubber shoes squeaking along the deserted halls. She dragged herself out of her school, the cold London winds giving her the chills. 

She would be walking home, as usual. 

When she got home, it was already getting dark- that was how far she lived from her school. 

Her home was on the second floor of a simple apartment. Luckily, her room was positioned right over the front yard, so she could easily jump out of her window and down on her feet with no major injuries but a few scratches here and there. 

Tuesday's shoulders slumped as she walked up the stairs to her home and pulled open the door.

Wrappers, cigarettes, empty beer bottles and magazines littered the floor. The whole place smelled strongly of beer and cigarettes. 

Sitting on the couch was Tuesday's father. He was a tall, stringy man who had messy black hair and he was always doing at least four things: Drinking beer, smoking, cursing or shouting at Avery and her sister. 

His eyes were bloodshot, and he smelled worse than the room. 

"Whattre you doing here?" He said in a drunk voice, tripping over his words. 

"I live here, you bumbling idiot." Tuesday muttered under her breathe, walking over to her room. 

"AYE, THIS IS MY HOUSE! DON'T YOU DARE CALL ME AN IDIOT UNDER MY OWN ROOF OR IMMA--"

"What?" Tuesday snapped, her backpack falling to the ground as she turned to face her father. "What are you going to do? Throw me out? Hit me? What?" 

Tuesday's father stood up, and stumbled over to her. 

He slapped her.

Punched her in the eye.

Then pushed her down on to the floor.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that, yeh ungrateful little bastard." He snarled. "Yer lucky that I haven't threw yeh in the streets by now." 

He started grumbling curses as he walked back to his couch.

Tuesday got to her feet and grabbed her backpack, pushing open the door to her room and slamming it shut. 

Her room wasn't anything fancy, and it wasn't nothing nice either.

It was practically the only clean place in the whole house: the floor had a soft carpet that wasn't covered in magazines or garbage or anything, and everything was orderly and color cordinated. 

In one corner of the room was a big wooden closet, next to it was a mirror. Then, there was the double decker right across it. Tuesday had saved up enough to buy a used laptop, and it was currently stored in the closet. Then, there was the window, which she used as an escape route most of the time. 

There was a bathroom connected to her room: shower and everything. 

"Again?"

Tuesday looked at her little sister, Mitchell, or just Mitch.

Mitch didn't look like Tuesday, with her wavy brown hair and shining blue eyes. Tuesday had pencil staight black hair and chocolate brown eyes- the two took some kind of features from their mother. 

"It's okay." Tuesday said, a small sigh escaping her lips. She walked in to their bathroom and grabbed the bag of cotton balls that they always kept. 

She dipped it in the healing ointment thing and put it to her swollen eye before walking back to Mitch. 

Mitch was lying down on her bed, her tiny little arms wrapped around her teddy bear. Her eyes pierced in to Tuesday as though trying to find a way to help her. 

"I'm going to work back at Starbucks tomorrow," Tuesday said, trying to sound cheerful as she sat at the edge of Mitch's bed. "Do you want anything? How about a chocolate chip muffin?" 

"I'd like that." Mitch said with a nod. 

"Have you eaten dinner?" 

"No," Mitch replied silently. "Dad didn't feed me." 

Anger bubbled up within Tuesday. She was almost ready to barge out of this room and cause her father as much pain as she could, but she settled for something else.

"Can you do with a bacon sandwich?" Tuesday asked, pulling out the sandwich from her backpack. 

Mitch ate it quickly. She was obviously starving.

"Wait." Mitch paused, half of the sandwich in her hands. "Have you ate already?" 

"Yes." Tuesday lied. She was starving as well, but she wouldn't let Mitch go off and starve.

Mitch, satisfied, nodded and ate more.

Tuesday climbed up to the top deck of their bed. She buried herself under her blanket and closed her eyes. 

"G'night, Mitch." Tuesday called. 

"Night." 

Tuesday's life wasn't easy. And every night, before she slept, all she wished for was one thing: A miracle.

At that moment, she didn't know how close she was to getting it.