My day begins with the song "Good Morning" from the classic Singing in the Rain musical. An extremely fitting song for the day as it's already pouring outside. I get up and brush my hair first. Then I pull it back in a ponytail so I can brush my teeth and wash my face without my hair in the way. Now, an outfit. My clothes are just a collection of graphic t-shirts depicting classic movies I love like Pinocchio, Creature from the Black Lagoon, and Godzilla. I recommend if you want something to watch. I do enjoy a variety. I decide on a Dirty Dancing shirt and a pair of faded jeans. I grab a jacket and my backpack, a bag covered by a mix of Disney and Star Wars pins, and run downstairs to the kitchen. My mother sits on a stool watching the television as she sips her coffee.
"Good morning," I say with a bright smile. She acknowledges me with a customary nod. The response I get every morning.
I grab a loaf bread from the pantry and stick a slice into the toaster. While waiting for my breakfast, I turn to the TV on the countertop. Mom has it turned to the weather channel. Rain for the next couple days. Lovely. Mom finishes her coffee and grabs her keys off the hook next to the garage door.
"Bye Mom," I call after her. I receive another nod. Then she leaves. I won't see her until the next morning.
My toast pops up and I head to the garage where my bicycle is waiting. A purple bike complete with a bell and at least twenty stickers. You can probably guess what they're stickers of. Yeah. I'm predictable. I pop on the hood of my jacket and lead the bike toward the side door. Then I roll out into the rain. It was a bit hard to see in front of me as the rain came down in buckets, but I had traveled the path so often I could probably do it blind anyways.
My neighborhood is full of small wood siding houses with small yards. They're pretty cute, too. I could tell you who lived in which house. Everyone knows everyone as small towns usually go. Which isn't always a good thing. My family's the weird family. The one where if someone sees me at the grocery store or riding home from school, they turn to whisper to each other, "She's the one with the runaway brother and the dad with cancer." I may know everyone, but it doesn't mean I'm on likable terms with anyone. Besides, I'm too socially awkward to make friends. I have trouble talking with kids my age. For some reason they intimidate me. Maybe it's the lack of tragedy in their lives to relate with. Who knows.
My school, the largest building in town, comes into view. It's an ugly building. Honestly, I don't know what the designers were thinking. It's three stories high with vomit green brick. Yeah. Green brick. The first floor is for middle school students, the top two floors are for high school students. I lock my bike up on the bicycle rack and trudge into the schools front doors. I take a moment to breathe in the soggy clothes smell.Then I'm off to my locker on the third floor.
On my way I pass the usual students: the football players hanging out with cheerleaders and volleyball players, boys and girls with greasy dyed hair playing card games, and groups of giggly girls talking about guys or the color of their new nail polish. No matter the crowd, I feel a bit jealous. They have found their place of belonging. Their friends. I'm still the loner girl who everyone whispers about behind my back. I just dream about the day when they talk about me in awe. The girl who became famous. The girl they knew the name of, but nothing else. They'd regret pitying me or my family and wish they had been friends with me. At least, that's what my fantasies are like.
I turn the corner and head towards locker 928.I usually have to fight my way through a traffic clogged hallway, as it was the busiest hallway in the school. Fortunately the hallway wasn't as congested. Instead, people had crowded around my locker as two girls were duking it out with high class profanity right in front of it. Lucky me. I recognized both girls as Carson Aaron and Stacey Jacobs, they respectfully resembled the actresses Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell. They were pretty famous at our school, too. They friends with each other, but tragically had the same taste in men. And those men usually weren't very loyal.
A crowd began to form around the two girls as I inched closer to my locker. I waited patiently as they moved towards another set of lockers before I forced my way between the crowd to reach my locker. As I turned the dial on my locker, I could tell the fight was about to get physical as voices raised between the girls. I turned to look towards the fight, right in time to take a fist to the eye socket. There were a few gasps and lots of cheering from the crowd as I fell onto my butt. I stayed down until teachers broke up the fight. No way were they going to miss another punch for me to receive. Mrs. Sanchez, the Spanish teacherwaved the students away to class. I attempted to stand. Nope. Too dizzy. She grabbed me by the arm helped me up. Before I could utter a "Thank you", she steered me towards the principal's office.
Through choked tears and an awful stutter I tried to explain I was only in the line of fire. The blubbering didn't do much good. Stupid pain. Mrs.Sanchez led me to a comfy looking chair. The salvation to my growing headache. But I found myself sitting across from Principal Rhine with both Carson and Stacey. The chair didn't help much.
"So tell me what happened girls," said Mr.Rhine.
I opened my mouth to explain my innocence when Carson spat, "That hoe stole my boyfriend." I don't think Carson has the capability to learn when and when not to verbally abuse a best friend. Stacey went off and slapped Carson in the face. Stacey doesn't know when to keep her hands to herself ,either. The fighting resumed. By the end of the whole debacle, all three of us were given a week's suspension from school. I hope the cat fight was worth it. But to be real, I'm worried about the call to mother the principal made. I'm not sure what my mom will make of my suspension and I'm a bit worried. I haven't gotten in trouble at school since I was 10.
The Self Pity Poem
By Mave Morgans
There was a girl named Mave,
Who was really pretty lame,
Ran away from the spotlight,
Always dreamed of fame.
Lived with her mother,
Her never present brother,
A passed away father,
And was never a bother.
The gone daddy,
Made mommy a fatty,
Indulged on the drink,
And the food for her misery.
The older brother,
Finds himself a lover,
Runs away from everything,
To recover from his family.
Mave all alone,
With movies and all her woe,
Age 10 with dreams all dashed,
Waiting for her big star chance.
YOU ARE READING
The Mave Movie
Teen FictionMave Morgans is a teenage movie fanatic with dreams to become a movie star. But she knows dreams may never come true, especially after her father died when she was ten. Five years later she's still dealing with loss as it tore apart her family, but...
