"November in New York is absolutely killer," I observe to myself, as I blast the heat in my green 4-by-4 pickup. Snow covers the ground, up to my knees in places , and I'm five feet nine inches, mind you. The wretched stuff began flowing as I ran to my truck, so now my brown, curly, waist-length hair is shining and wet.
A little snow is okay. A lot? Ugh, wake me when spring returns and the White Witch has been defeated. (Narnia fans, you catch my drift.) I'm so happy when I get into my nice warm house. "Megs? Is that you? " my dad calls from the kitchen.
"Yeah. Who else would it be?" I say, kicking off my boots and heading in. I sneak up behind where he's 'preparing' dinner, and kiss his cheek. "How was tryouts?" he asks. "Auditions," I correct, "and they went well! I'm pretty sure I got the part of Juliet, which is the one I wanted," I tell him. "Hey, that's my girl!" he smiles, turning and hugging me.
People say I look a lot like him. We both have brown hair, and eyes that are almond-shaped and stormy gray. Dad's hair is short, and kind of flyaway. Mine is waist-length, and SUPER curly. "I hope you do get the part. You play a Medieval maiden very well," he says. "Shakespearean. Not Medieval. There's a difference," I correct him, laughing a little.
"Whatever. So, pizza tonight?" he asks. "I'm ALWAYS up for pizza," I agree immediately. He motions for me to start my homework, even though he knows I've never missed an assignment. Just because I love theater doesn't mean it has to control, or take precedence over, my studies. I'm not that much of a freak.
I'm sitting at the table pretending to do my History homework, while secretly thinking of 'The Note', as I've begun calling it. Who could have left it in my locker? I don't talk to that many people, and I'm not aware of anyone in my group of friends (which is pretty much just Anthony, myself, and a few other acquaintances) liking me THAT way.
I don't even consider the Barbie crowd, Marnie's circle. For one thing, they completely ignore me. For another, none of the jocks are smart enough for a poem like that, even if it is just a slightly changed one from an original. I'm not even sure they know how to write. Hmmm. I guess it will have to remain a mystery for now.
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Roman pour AdolescentsA drama freak with some interesting friends. A secret admirer. A disturbing phone call late at night. Megan's only love is the stage. She lives for acting, it's in her very blood. Her best friend, barely wants to live at all. Couple that with someo...
