Switched [On Hold - Editing] (E)

Switched - 01

"The less men think, the more they talk."

                                                                                                -- Baron Montesquieu

Chapter I

While walking down the shore, I noticed a guy. He was standing a few meters away from me,  watching the sunset. He was tall and I think he was lean. I wasn't so sure 'cause his silhoutte was the only thing I saw. I tried to walk, to somehow get near him. He was about to turn around when I was a few steps away, but then, he vanished. Just like that, he was gone.

The sound of my alarm clock had awoken me. I blindly reached for it on my bed side table and checked the time. My eyes widened when I saw the numbers flashed on my digital alarm clock.

6:00. Crap!

I jumped off my bed, pulled my Winnie the Pooh towel from the hanger and dashed to the bathroom. How stupid could I get? I was pretty sure I won't be able to attend the first subject. Ugh! Sorry Mr. Vasquez.

After five mintues of taking a bath (if I could call that taking a bath), I headed straight to my closet shuffled and dug deep in. Wearing my clothes as fast as I could like I was next on the catwalk, it was like hell. I was the turtle-type, always slow at doing anything. And seriously, I felt like dying moving this fast.

I was done in fifteen minutes—from wearing my clothes to fixing my hair. Usually, it takes me an hour to finish all these things. But right now, I was wondering why it took me that long wherein I could slash the forty five minutes off?

Hurried steps and strides were my best friends today. So much for being a slow poke. I needed to unleash the ninja side of me if I didn't want to be late.

My mom was at her usual spot when I got down—the kitchen. It was her private space. No one, as in no one, dared to talk to her when she was in there. It was like an invisible do not disturb sign was written all over the place. And you won't like it when she was on the mood and got distracted. It had a white-tiled counter at the right side and granite table top situated at the center which served as the working area. It was where mom chopped and ground and mashed the ingredients like she was about to kill somebody. It was like a death bed. Poor veggies and meat.

The floor, too, was all white with tiles. Mom loved to keep and see it looking squicky clean so she requested for the kitchen to be like that.

"Out for Van's this early, sweetie?" My mom. Maybe my walk was a little too noisy for her to notice me. She had this, uhh, I didn't know, some sort of radar? She knew in a second when somebody walked in, or when somebody passed by. I thought she had eyes under that dark black hair of hers.

I stopped to face her, those she was still facing the counter. “Nope, I'm off for school."

She looked at me, bemused, "Do you have a program or something?"

"None I could think of."

She washed her hands after she put down the chopping knife on the sink and faced me, wiping her hands on her apron, "A project perhaps?"

I shook my head. Do I need to have a project or a school program just to go to school? Wasn't it enough that I go, because I need to? Or because I'll study. Not.

"Then what are you gonna do at school on a Sunday?"

Sunday? My eyes instantly searched the room for the calendar. My eyes widened and involuntary, my hand smacked my forehead. Dang! Why the hell was my alarm clock set at 6am on a Sunday?