Mirror, Mirror (Book 2)

Chapter 7: Getting Prepared

On the next morning, Oliver wakes up to find Amelia sitting on top of his bookshelf, with her eyes staring at the floor.

Her dirty blond hair now had reached down to her back, her clothes consisted of an orange-brown tanktop, jeans, and white tennis shoes, and her usual face looks fresh as a daisy.

"Hey Olly," Amelia greeted, looking at the boy. "How was your sleep?"

Oliver yawned as he stretched his arms, and bobbed his head in her direction.

"Good," he mumbled. "What time is it, anyway?"

The blond vampire faces her head at the clock which was about five inches near the bookshelf-then told him that it was six-thirty in the morning.

"Ugh," he groaned. "I am so tired."

Amelia scrunched her nose as if she smelled something bad.

"Why are you so tired?" she asked. "You slept like a baby for six hours."

Oliver threw the covers over his head and groaned once more.

The woman was right—he did sleep peacefully, however, it did not mean that he is thrilled to open his eyes.

He yawned again, stretching his arms into a lazy cat position.

His eyelids drooped immensely over his green eyes, making it hard for the boy to concentrate.

"Ugh," Oliver repeated. "Why am I so tired?"

Amelia did a perfect front handspring off of the bookshelf, lands on her two feet, and walks over to Oliver, whose struggling to get out of bed.

"Everyone feels tired, Olly." the vampire replied.

Oliver opens his eyes to glare at Amelia.

"You don't feel tired." he snorted.

"Yeah, because I am a vampire." she reminded as a matter of fact.

"Now, get up and make haste—your field trip is going to start in about thirty seconds."

Oliver wrinkled his nose. "Thirty seconds? It's almost six-thirty—"

"Come on," she cuts him off. "Your mum is making breakfast for you, the suitcases are in the living room, and I put your check in your backpack."

She jerks her thumb to the bag, which sat beside Oliver's desk.

"The only thing you need to do is, brush your teeth, get dressed, and stop acting like a wailing baby."

"' A wailing baby'?" Oliver thinks unsurely.

Since when did he ever whine or complain to Amelia? In fact, his mother raised him to be grateful and nice towards others, especially mean jocks, like Max Fields.

But even though Oliver showed amnosity to others, he has the personality of a strict parent: he doesn't sneak out of the house, he hates alcohol and drugs, and as much as he loves Harriet, Oliver didn't want to have sex with her until they were married.

Convinced by her words, the teenaged boy gets out of bed and prepares for his day, while Amelia scurried downstairs to help his mother in the kitchen.

Into the bathroom he went, brushing his teeth and examining his horrific face in the mirror.

He has dry spit caking on the corners of his mouth, greenish-brown boogers decorating his eyes, and let's not forget the horrid acne spreading across on his forehead.

Looking at this made Oliver want to puke—never in his life did he see so many horrors on one face.

But then again, he is sixteen.