The Life of a Freak

Chapter 1

I am a freak. That's what people call me. A freak that played the violin since she was 4. A freak who's twelve years old. Basically, a freak named Amelia Lucy Grey.

Yep. My name's Amelia, but almost everyone knows me simply as "Amy". Everyone also knows me as the "freak".

I reminded myself of this when I passed my mirror. I got my mouse-brown hair from my mother and my blue eyes from my father. My 8 year old brother, Ian, always said that my eyes where the color of the sea and that they were beautiful, but I believe that he only said that to make me feel better.

I can't exactly say that I'm not pretty. I guess I kind of am. I just have a couple of pounds to lose before I could be called skinny, and with makeup, which I never wear, maybe I could be at least slightly prettier than what I am now.

I was wearing a simple yellow shirt and shorts. I wore purple dangling earrings and a golden monogrammed locket that my parents gave me for my tenth birthday. It is probably the most special object I own, except of course for my violin, which my parents gave me for my 6th birthday. Before that, for two years, I just borrowed my teacher's (Lisa Nikolaevna) spare violin. I was told that I jumped with joy for the next two hours after I received my "special gift".

I could understand that. I mean, even then, my passion for music and my dedication to violin playing made me very happy. After all, I wasn't bullied back then...

I slowly descended the stairs that led downstairs after checking the time. The clock said it was 6:00, but since it was five minutes late, I realized with pride that I had finally woken up before 6:00 for school. As you can probably imagine, like most twelve year olds, I am more of a night owl than a morning lark and DO NOT like waking up early in the morning.

I walked into the kitchen where my mom just finished making an omelette. Her silk brown hair was made into a loose ponytail and her green eyes shone like emeralds, how I liked to think of them. My mom was way more beautiful than me. It's no surprise that my dad fell in love with her as soon as he saw her. If I looked like her, all of the boys in my school would probably be chasing after me all the time.

I thanked her for making breakfast and poured myself orange juice. I could never wake up without orange juice. It was a habit that started when I was around seven, when my parents gave me orange juice for the first time and I loved it.

I slowly ate my omelette. It seemed to melt in my mouth. It was good. Really good. Like almost everything my mom made, anyway.

My mom is really good at cooking. She said that her mom taught her when she was eleven. Mom tried to teach me as well, but I failed miserably when the egg I was cracking spilled on my shirt and I could only think about how disgusting my shirt looked after that. I guess cooking really isn't my thing.

My thing, of course, is classical music. As I said earlier, I strayed playing when I was 4. I just loved listening to classical music back then and I actually knew a lot of names of famous composers. So, my parents decided to introduce me to a musical instrument so that I could make beautiful music come to life myself.

I guess I must have looked silly back then, my little trembling hands holding a big violin. I was told that the first time that I held one, I fell from the weight of the violin. A violin is really light for a twelve year old, but for a four year old's fragile body, a violin weighs a ton...

I hear Ian's footsteps coming down. As usual, he wakes up last. Always. Dad wakes up first and soon leaves for work. Then Mom. Then me. And only then Ian. That sleepyhead.

He comes into the kitchen, greets both Mom and me in his very cute sleepy voice, takes his breakfast, and goes to the table, where he sits down next to me. He is visibly and obviously only half-awake, if not sleepwalking.

-Hi sleepyhead. Finally woke up?, I tease him.

-Good-morning, he says, ignoring my question and gaze.

After I finished my breakfast, I took a sponge and washed all of the dishes. My family made a calender for the days when each member of the family had to wash the dishes (we took turns) and today, washing the dishes was my job. Tomorrow I have to do the laundry...

After finishing the dishes, I went upstairs and combed my long hair. I quickly fashioned it into a braid. I petted my golden retriever, Sadie, behind the ears, as if saying goodbye until after school.

I went outside and walked to the bus stop at the end of the street. The morning air was chilly and seemed to bite my ankles. The wind swayed my braid from side to side. Common for a September morning, anyways. I sped up my pace. In the bus, I knew, my problems for the day would start.