The Life of Tilly Leaf

First Day Of Hell-- I Mean High School (2) PART ONE

This story takes place in a fictional universe, on a fictional planet, in a fictional town. All characters are not real. The story is told by the character Tylia W. Lewis-Murdock, who is referred to as Tilly.

"Hey there jelly bean!" I could hear "Mr. Morning Person," a.k.a my dad, shouting from down the hall as I brushed my teeth. When I looked in the mirror I saw my usual hair was a mess, dark bags under my eyes, and caved in cheeks. I looked like absolute hell... My usual look.

"Jellybean, what do you want for breakfast?" My father yelled from down the hall. I spit out the tooth paste into the sink and yell back, "French toast!" He then snapped his fingers, which meant "Alright, got'cha." I continued brushing my teeth while loathing the very idea of school. I mean, who the hell came up with the whole idea. It's so stupid.

I march back to my room and slam the door, not in anger, just because I felt like it. I pull my shirt over my head and turn around to face my cracked mirror. Bits of shards had fallen off it from the last time I struck it out of anger. I remember father was so upset, he sat me down for the longest lecture of my life. He schooled me in how to be a better person, while ranting on about how I have mother's anger. Even though he was ranting, after he was done, he didn't make me clean it up. He didn't want me getting hurt from the glass, so I sat there biting into chocolate ice cream (I can already hear the cringe from people already, asking me, "Why? Why do you BITE into ice cream!" Well, because I can.) watching as he cleaned up my mess. He always cleans up my mess, always right behind me ready to help whenever I screw up anything and everything. From a spilling juice to scratching up half the color on my father's car—that's another story for another time—He's always there to clean up my mess...

To help me...

I couldn't help but smile at that thought.

"Okay, let's see what we're going to wear today..." I spoke aloud to myself, picking up a light black hoodie and a white T-shirt that had a butterfly silhouette imprinted on the front of it. I placed those two down and saw a dark skirt laying at the end of my bed. It was gift from my mother, a skirt. She gave it to me on my birthday. I never wore it though, and father always trying to persuade me to wear it at least once before I can't fit it (I'm losing a lot of weight a rapid pace. I don't really like to eat, and when I do, I usual eat a small portion or don't finish my meal. It doesn't help that I have a fast metabolism. I do try to maintain a healthy weight, so I don't fall short... All for the sake of my parent's sanity and happiness.)

I gaze pass the skirt. My eyes soon caught something that was more up my alley: Black ripped jeans! What better way than to come in and look rad-- does anyone even say that anymore? -- in these bad boys?! I slip them on, then my shirt, and finally my hoodie. I pick up my backpack, which was black with a tiny rainbow and frog key chain attached to the back of it.

I walk out of my room with my backpack slung over my shoulder, my shoes in one hand, and a notebook in the other. I make my way to the kitchen. The closer I got, the more I could smell the delicious aroma of French Toast filling the house. My mouth watered a bit, which I wiped away. I guess I was hungry for once.

"Mornin' dad!" I call in a low voice. I sounded exhausted. I place everything over at the front door.

"Jellybean! Twilly Willy! My little high school girl!" He greeted me, beaming as he pulls me into a tight hug. He always called me different nicknames, but "Lia" is his favorite name for me. He never seemed to run out of childish names for his little girl. In his eyes, I was still the little girl who he was teaching how to write the T's and L's in her name. Meanwhile, my mom always saw I was a independent, sophisticated woman that would soon have all the power in her hands when I get my own business up in running...