I Just Wanna Look At Your Face in Peace - Dominic Howard [DISCONTINUED]

Chapter One

"Elizabeth!" I jumped up in fright as my mother barged into my room, yanking my curtains open. Her dark hair stuck out wildly in all directions and her blue eyes were so wide I thought they were about to pop out of her head. If I wasn't so shocked by her entrance, I would have laughed.

"Jesus Christ, mum!" I yelled, shielding my eyes from the sunlight. "Can't you enter my room like a nor-" I was silenced by a pair of jeans hitting me in the face. "Mum!"

"Hurryupandgetchangedyou'retwohourslateforschool!" She yelled in one breath, running back out of my room and slamming the door behind her.

I sat on my bed with furrowed eyebrows trying to figure out what my mum had just said. My eyes darted towards the clock on the beside table and then widened with horror. "Shit!" I screamed, almost tripping as my blanket wrapped around my leg. "Shit, shit, shit!"

I quickly pulled on the pair of jeans that my mum had thrown at my face and ran to my closet, grabbing the first top I saw. It was my Rage Against the Machine shirt that I had cut into a tank top to make me look more feminine. I hated shirts as I always felt I looked like a box when I wore them.

As I ran into the bathroom, I felt myself slip on the cold tiles and grabbed the sink for support. I breathed out a sigh of relief, thankful that I hadn't knocked myself out. I lightly applied my eyeliner as fast as I could along with my favourite lengthening and volume mascara. I added a light bronzer to my cheekbones and I was done in record time.

I gave myself the once over. My big blue eyes that I inherited from my mother stood out against my pale skin. Looking at my hair, I scrunched my nose up in distaste. It was dark brown with a full fringe, but at the moment it just looked like a giant frizzball. I quickly put some product on my hands and scrunched it through my hair. I proceeded to throw my hair up in a messy up-do and pinned a bow on the side. After I was done, I gave a nod of approval.

"Hurry up, Lizzie!" My mum yelled from outside the door.

I quickly grabbed my bag and hauled it over my shoulder. "I'm coming!"

As soon as I was out of my bedroom, my mum had dragged me by the wrist out of our house and practically thrown me in the car. I barely had enough time to put my seatbelt on before she had peeled out of the driveway and sped off down the street. Rolling my eyes, I turned my attention to outside the window. And she worries about my driving.

In what was meant to be a 15 minute drive, I had arrived at Teignmouth Community College in 5 minutes and was now standing outside my classroom door. I could hear the teacher yelling, at some troublemaker no doubt, and was put off from entering just yet. Once the rant was over, I finally plucked up the courage to knock.

The door opened, revealing a short old lady with a mean looking face. Her glasses were perched on the end of her nose and her cheeks were flushed from all the yelling she had just dished out. "Yes?" She snapped, tapping her foot impatiently against the ground.

I refrained myself from glaring at her for being rude. "Hi, I'm Elizabeth Summers. I'm-"

Immediately straightening herself up, she put on what I guessed was a smile and interrupted me with a sickly sweet voice. "Oh yes, the new student! Come in, come in!"

Stepping into the classroom, I felt the nerves overtake me. I was normally a confident person, but as soon as I knew I was the centre of attention, all of my confidence was out the door. The old lady closed the door behind me and came over seating herself at her desk.

"My name is Ms Ould." I almost laughed, but caught myself just in time. "Please introduce yourself to the rest of us."

"Uh, hey. My name is Elizabeth Summers." My eyes stayed focused on the poster that was on the wall at the back of the classroom. I didn't dare look at any other student in the eyes, fearing I'd stumble over my words. "I'm 17 and have just moved here from London. I live with my mum and my dad and I'm an only child. Um," I paused, looking at the ceiling to try and think of something else to say. "That's about it."