Thalia

Chapter 1: Daily Routine

Chapter 1: Daily Routine

List of Things I Hate: mornings, weariness, school, and weariness in the morning before going to school.

This should be illegal. Nobody in their right mind would schedule something five days a week that can cause children eighteen and under to lose beauty sleep. That's probably why most of everybody's school peers look like a pack of wild animals half of the time; including me.

Correction: Especially me, Rose.

Because of the idiot who scheduled school hours to be before the birds even wake up chomping their cursed beaks for worms, I have to get up in the morning a complete hour and twenty minutes before school starts, just to look semi-decent and not like I just woke from an underground swamp hut.

And no, I'm not one of those girls who go over-the-top just for an outfit, but I do have self respect. I'm not going to waltz around the dimly lit, horror hallways acting like I own the place when in all actuality, people are constantly confusing me with Michael Jackson's monkey, Bubbles. I at least want to look presentable.

I get up from the couch after the morning cartoons that—which as usual—sucked, and go up to my personal bathroom located in the depths of my bright bedroom. Turns out, when my mom bought the house after the divorce, the builders created two master sized bedrooms. Of course, my mom chose the bigger of the rooms. You won't see me complaining, though.

It actually got to the point where she had to bring out the measuring tape. According to the measurements, her room is exactly 2.73 square feet larger. I thought it was a little dramatic, but you never argue with mom, she could put a lawyer to shame any day with her naturally smart, yet awkward mouth. The world would be on their knees in seconds, no doubt.

After brushing my teeth, putting my crap back behind the mirror and rinsing my mouth, I stare at my complicated reflection. I wouldn't say that I'm ugly, but I am most definitely not a Miss America. I'm more of a descendant of the Casual breed.

My annoying tiny nose, has got to be one of the worst of my body parts, if I must say. I always feel like I'm missing out on certain smells because of its size. And these greenish-brown, hazel eyes of mine are bright in the lighting. It's probably the only feature I like along with my hair which is Indian inherited.

But the grand-prize winner of Horrible and Most Embarrassing Body Part goes to: my dimples. That curse. Who put them there? Neither of my parents had them, nor my grandparents, so why me? Everyone thinks they're adorable. But my opinion? Uh, no, they can take them back and shove them up a bus' butt for all I care. Dimples are dead to me. Just like lobster.

I flip off my bathroom light and head over to my small walk-in closet. My light blue, ripped, jean shorts, silver belt, pink camisole, and faded, pale green mini vest find their way into my hand as I scan for possible candidates for this day of school. Thursdays are those awkward days where no one knows whether they should be happy or not. 

I can feel the learning tension in the air.

Snatching my Nike drawstring backpack off my bed, I trot down the stairs to the kitchen. Silence greets me when I reach close to the first floor which means one thing: mom isn't up yet. Time to feed myself once more. You'd think she would be like a normal mother and get her lazy butt up to make me food. But I don't have a normal mother, I have a bumpkin.

Wait, I forget that I have a driver's license. Plus, my mom doesn't work at the shop today. I can take her car to school. Forget breakfast at home, I'm hitting the road to Burger King, the best place for me to shove food down my throat. Being in the eleventh grade pays off sometimes, especially when your mom's car is the rare and street legal model of the McLaren F1.