Corrupted

Chapter 1

"Time is money. This is a quote used by many people, and by looking at the literal meaning, you can figure out the metaphorical meaning," Ms. Gallagher, our new professor explained enthusiastically during English. I neatly printed notes as she began to give us a lecture on the ways metaphors permeate our language.

I was excitedthat is was finally Friday. Tomorrow is the only day I ignore my incredibly repetitive and tiring schedule, and take some time to relax. During the week I wake up at 6AM. I shower, dress for the day, eat slimy oatmeal with soggy blueberries and brown sugar for breakfast, meet my parents in the prayer room to thank God for the day we're blessed to be given, then walk to campus. I have English, chemistry, then a 45 minutes until my next class, calculus. During lunch I sit in the library and read books and study while eating the same ham and cheese sandwich I've been eating five days a week since I was five years old. Psychology and music are my last two classes before I walk home. After school I do my homework, and take piano lessons from my mother. We eat dinner, which is usually salad and some type of grilled meat. After cleaning up the kitchen socialize with my parents, study a little, pray, then go to bed- in that order. My life is consistent, except for Saturdays.

Saturdays my mother and father leave early in the morning visit hospitals and retirement homes to give advice and pray with the residents, so I have the house to myself. I can make myself a good breakfast and go for a walk, then come back and watch some movies. When my father is home, the TV and computer is rarely on, as he thinks it's a waste of time and it's slowly brainwashing and corrupting the human population. But what can he do about it when he's not home? Nothing.

I looked down at my watch. It's 9:14, and I watch the second hand count down the last moments before the bell, and I pack up my neatly written notes, then head off to second period chemistry.

The day goes on just as usual. I greet people in the halls with a small smile. Some smile back. Some scoff. Some ignore me and look down at the ground as they walk by- but most ignore my presence. There are disadvantages to being the preachers daughter. Because I am the preachers daughter, people see me as the holy, innocent, godly girl. They don't like it. I don't know why. I simply carry on with my day and do what my father had taught me- to smile and say hello to people. It can make their day.

After piano lessons I help set the table, then help my mother in the kitchen by preparing the toss salad and filling the pitcher of water with ice and lemon slices. Then we eat.

Dinner is always the same. We eat the same food, discuss the same topics and act the same way. Having an orderly schedule is comforting in a way, because I always know what to do and when to do it; I've been following this routine the past 17 years.

"Thalia, have I told you there will be a new student on campus Monday?" my father asked. He always tells me these things, so I can welcome them and promote his church in a way. I shake my head, and he smiles softly. "His name is Niall. He just moved here from Ireland. I believe he is going to be in your chemistry, music and calculus class."

"Okay, thank you dad. I will make sure to introduce myself," I reply politely and sip my water.

"Thank you sweetie," he pauses, "but I must warn you, he's not the type of person you'd normally socialize with. He's trouble."

"Trouble?" I ask, slightly confused.

Nodding, he replies sternly, "Yes. Trouble. But, he deserves to be greeted and to feel comfortable in your school and in this town, so I'd like you to introduce yourself. But nothing more, Thalia. You can't be close with him. No friendships. He's a terrible influence"

I nod obediently, "Yes dad," and finish eating.

When dinner is finished, we clean up the dishes and sit in the family room to talk about our days. After an hour or two of mindless chatter, we pray in unison.

"O God, the life of all who live, the light of the faithful, the strength of those who labor, and the repose of the dead: We thank you for the blessings of the day that is past, and humbly ask for your protection through the coming night. Bring us in safety to the morning hours; through him who died and rose again for us, your Son our Savior Jesus Christ. Amen." I kiss my parents on the cheek and head down to my room to study my new English notes before trying to sleep for the night, but my brain keeps drifting back to this Niall boy, wondering what he's done to make himself a bad influence.

(A/N: Hi guys this is the first chapter. It was very uneventful, but you have to start somewhere, right? Thanks for reading!)