Big Tree Village

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

“You’ll also be attending a session everyday this week for teens who are struggling with life.” My father grumbles from the door. I groan.

            “Peter, I’m not struggling with life.” I roll over in my new pink, fluffy bed. The room smelled like lemon air freshener and was extremely humid considering it used to be the attic. He ran his hand down his hairy face.

            “It was your mothers idea, and don’t call me Peter. I am your father, call me dad or pop.” He chuckled. I faked a smile and rolled under the covers. “Alright, see you seven o’clock tomorrow morning, I’ll drive you to the session but the rest of the week you’ll be walking, it’s not too far.”

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            It was a month ago; I was pissed off at my mom for moving my curfew from 11 to 10. I hopped in the back of my best friend, Paige’s boyfriend Flint’s truck. Flint took us to some party. Paige drank, I drank, Flint drank. I knew it would be fine because my mother was at a party and would be home late. As long as I got home before her I would be good. Who knew my mom was next door? Well she was. A couple of older guys came over and told us to quiet down. I recognized a guy from our neighborhood and he recognized me. He dragged me next door and I was grounded. In my mom’s mind since I drank 2 beers I’m struggling with life. So she shipped me to my dad’s place up in the mountains where no one lives. He quickly made a girly room up in his attic and now here I am, in the mountains with Peter.

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            “Make a left at the big tree.” My father mumbled pointing at a huge tree. I pulled out my phone and had a message from Paige. She said she misses me. “No phone.” He grabbed it from me. I looked up at him in his gray eyes. He was shaking his head. “Zo, please.” He sighed. “Continue down this street until you hit the-” The car flew up and my phone fell out them open window. I gasped. “bump, hit the bump.” He muttered opening the door and hopping out.

            “PETER!” I shriek slamming my fist on to the horn. He chuckled, got back in the car, and handed me my phone. It was cracked and the button 9 was gone. I groaned. “You owe me a new phone.”  

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            The session contained 3 teens. First there’s a 14 year old boy named Bert. He has orange hair and freckles covering his entire face. He has asthma and can’t control his left arm. He uses his inhaler every seven minutes, which gets annoying. The other is an 18 year old girl. Her name is Demona and she has tattoos all over her arms. Her hair is bright red. She has her nose pierced, lip pierced, eyebrow pierced, and she even shared that she had her tongue pierced but then it got infected. She smokes and couldn’t go an hour without taking a puff. Then there’s me.

            Our instructor is Ms. Murray. She is about 30 and has short blonde hair. She is way too happy. I hate people like that. Ms. Murray loves to talk, laugh, and most of all loves to be a life coach for teenagers. She thinks everything is just-wonderful. I hate Ms. Murray.

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            “Now, now, Bert!” Ms. Murray screamed as Bert’s left arm has a spasm, knocking over a drum set. The sessions are held in a music room; obviously the county finds no importance for these sessions. Bert took a whiff of his inhaler and held his arm down. The room quieted and Ms. Murray laughed. Why was she so happy? “Alright guys-” She began but Demona interrupted her.