I Promise

2

I wake up, feeling like I had forgotten something important.

As I walk into the kitchen, a glare from my dad answers my question.

Oh shit. Good one Rynn, you forgot to load up the fucking dishwasher yesterday.

I look up at my dad with my sleepy eyes, and mumble an apology.

Of course, my dad wheels around, clearly annoyed.

"What did you say?" he barks, and I am jolted awake. He hates it when you mumble.

"I'm sorry I forgot to load up the dishwasher. I wasn't feeling well yesterday," I answer louder.

His face softens.

"Why didn't you tell anyone? Are you sick?" he asks, putting a hand to my forehead.

"No, just had a big headache yesterday," I reply. I almost turn away from his touch, but I stay put. It amazes me sometimes how he can go from angry mode to I actually give a shit mode.

Although I lied about feeling sick, I didn't lie about the headache. After I cry, I always get massive headaches. By now, I had gotten used to dealing with them.

My dad leaves the kitchen and calls for my mom. They usually drive to work together since they work near each other. I hear the door shut, and I know they're gone.

I take their empty plates from the dining room into the sink, feeling a bit frustrated at how my dad always gets annoyed at me when I don't clean up after myself, yet he does the same thing.

Once I make myself breakfast, I pack my lunch. Thankfully nana had taken to preparing Peyton's lunches, and Ashton and JT stay with her all day since they're too young to go to school yet. It's not like we're about to pay ten thousand dollars for each of them to attend daycare. My parents have enough on their hands as is, what with paying for my sister's university education and all. My nana doesn't have trouble with the twins, but next week they're going to start some kind of camp for toddlers that lasts one month. I wonder what she'll do all day when they're gone.

I go and do my hair and makeup in the bathroom, making sure to not look like the puffy-eyed girl from yesterday. Quietly I slip into my bedroom and pick out some clothes, making sure to not wake anyone up. I'm the first to leave out of the four of us; I have to bus to school while Peyton's elementary school is a few blocks away.

I sling my backpack over my shoulder along with my gym bag, and I shut the door behind me.

I head outside, and I feel like a weight rolls off my shoulders. I feel like Rynn, the kinda-popular girl who is artistic, athletic, and a perfect student. It feels easier to act like her when I'm not at home.

I hop onto the bus, and sit on the very back seat. My school is a twenty minute bus drive away, so I have some time to spare.

I pull out my phone and stick in some ear buds, putting on my favourite playlist for the ride. As I listen along, I catch more students from my school loading the bus. I don't acknowledge them, and neither do they. I'm so popular that everyone at my school knows who I am, and I don't expect anyone to sit next to me.

Sooner than I had hoped, the bus stops at its last stop, Topmore High School. You always hear about people saying High School was the worst times of their lives, but really, it isn't so bad. If you lay low and hope to god that no one popular would expose you or criticize you, you were pretty much good. In my High School, everyone who wasn't one of the popular kids worked together to not bring attention to each other. No one wanted to catch the eyes of the likes of Amber Wallnaby, who is like the child of fallen Lucifer. She is as close to Satan as you could get, and she makes your life a living hell if you cross her path. Make her walk around you? Living hell. Accidentally bump into her? Living hell. Ever cross her or mock her? Something worse than living hell.

I get off the bus and reluctantly walk to my locker, hoping to god that Scarlett would be at hers. I have known her since second grade, and we have been best friends since. I feel sort of guilty that I knew all her deepest darkest secrets, yet she knows only fragments of mine. Did she know I live in an apartment with a million other people? Yes. Did she know that my dad is pretty much the definition of the Hulk if he became just a little pissed off? Sort of. Did she know that I cry almost every day and my life is pretty much a big mess? Not at all.

I walk to my locker and grin at Scarlett, who is leaning against hers, books already in hand. She has her long black hair tied into a ponytail, and she wearing dark green military pants with a black tank top. I secretly envy how Scarlett can pull of such a badass look. My petite form could only make me pull of a comfy or cute look, and I hated that. But then again, Scarlett is definitely the rebel in our friendship. She honestly doesn't give a shit, and she speaks her mind. Me on the other hand, does not. I am as close to being a rebel as Superman a villain. It just isn't possible. When it comes to school, I'm known as the sweet girl.

I open up my locker and take out my history textbook. Scarlett frowns.

"Shit. I forgot that at home."

I smile at her. Her reply just means "I need to share it with your or else Mr. King will kill me for sure this time."

She gives me a lopsided grin and we head to class together. Somehow, we managed to get half of our classes together, and considering the amount of Sophomores we have, we got very lucky.

We reach the History hallway and stand outside Mr. King's classroom with the rest of his students.

"Hold on, do we have practice today?" Scarlett asks me. She noticed I had my gym duffel on the floor and looks a bit horrified. If our soccer coach heard that she missed practice because she forgot her equipment, she would be cut off the team. There are more than enough girls who would die for Scarlet's spot as a defender. Me and her were one of the lucky ones that made the varsity team.

"Yeah, you forgot?" I ask.

Scarlet's face seems to whiten for a second until she regains her cool. She lets out a loud groan, loud enough that half the student's in the hallway turn around to figure out where the noise came from.

"I don't have my cleats or shin pads with me," she answers.

"I figured you wouldn't," I say, and reach out into my bag and pull out my extra pair.

Scarlett hugs me. "You see, that's why were best friends; we got each other's backs," she says.

"Yeah, but what if I forgot my stuff?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.

Scarlett huffs. "As if Coach Nobelton could afford to lose the best striker she's had since like the beginning of time," she answers back.

I smile down at my feet.

I know I am pretty decent at soccer, but in other people's eyes, I have a talent. I'm actually hoping to get some scholarships in my twelfth year. People would always tell me that I have some sort of "athletic gift," whatever that means.