Chapter One
It was difficult to convince myself that there was a good reason to get out of the bed. There were too many thoughts running through my head that said it would be a much better decision to stay under my turquoise comforter. But when my mother pounded angrily on my door, I decided it wasn’t worth getting in trouble. She yelled in the bitter voice that she spoke to only me in, telling me to get up or I would be late.
So, with a deep longing to go back to sleep, I pushed myself out of the soft bed, tossing my comforter to the side. Shivering from the cold air, I marched to the shower, dried my hair quickly, and slipped on the clothes that the old Viola wouldn’t be caught dead in.
It was my first day back, and I wanted to blend in. I chose a bland long sleeve black tee shirt, jeans that used to be tight on me, and a scuffed up pair of vans. I pulled my hair back into a low pony tail and tucked the stray hairs behind my ear. I ignored my mirror, knowing that I would only be angry and sad at the walking skeleton I had become, and walked out of my room to the kitchen where my mother frantically made breakfast for my brother. She hadn’t bothered in feeding me for the past month, knowing that I wouldn’t accept any of it anyway and haven’t for a while.
Matthew sat at the table, coloring in a picture of superman messily. My brother was only five, yet there was a wisdom in his big brown eyes that most others lacked. He never really cared about what others thought of him, and I hoped that that was the way it stayed. He was in his usual outfit; a super hero stamped on his tee-shirt (today it was the hulk), a pair tiny sweat pants, and no shoes. His tiny feet swung happily as he colored, and his hair was a tangled brown mess.
“It’s your first day back,” she bit out angrily. “You should have been up earlier. Don’t you even care about what you look like anymore?!” I flinched back as she slammed down her spatula, turning towards me. “Viola cared. But you’re not her, are you? You’re just some alien in her body!”
She picked up the pan and threw it at my head. I barely dodged it, and instead of hitting its target, it thudded against the wall and fell to the floor, leaving a dent in the red paint and a grease stain from the sausage. Matthew began wailing and jumped from his seat to run towards me, but mother grabbed his arm and yanked him back. By this time, she wouldn’t even look at me.
“Get out,” she demanded quietly. “Just leave. You’re a bad influence for Matthew, so when you get home, do not speak to him. In fact, don’t speak to any of us. We don’t want to hear your tired excuses about how you’re still the same Viola.”
She picked Matthew up, slamming the door behind her as she left the kitchen. I wouldn’t have spoken to you anyways, I think bitterly.
There was some kind of feeling in my chest, like a dull throbbing pain, as I picked up my school books and held them to me. It was a raw feeling, comparable to rubbing sandpaper against your skin, only amplified in intensity. I felt empty, and torn. For once in my life, I felt a total sense of loneliness.
I took a few deep breaths, stamped the feeling down, and walked out to the bus stop.
