1,002 Paper Cranes

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I throw open the door and stampede in. Pink and green walls, paper cranes strewn over every surface, polka-dot bed spread. I hate it all.

“I hate you!” I shout to the room, “It’s all your fault! Why? What is your problem?”

As tears fall down my cheek, I shove everything I can off of her desk with one powerful swipe.

“I hate you!”I shout again, and I collapse on the floor.

My shoulders shake as I breathe in sharply, tears coming in armies from my eyes. If she hadn’t done this, my life would still be great.

                Enraged, I reach for the pile of things I throw on the floor. Papers. Just stupid papers. I grab a handful and rip. The feeling is invigorating.

“And your stupid paper cranes!” Is this what insanity feels like?

I reach for one. A simple blue color. Boring, worthless. “#37” written on the side. I never liked that number much anyways.

Rip.

Greedy, my hands search for more paper birds to tear. I throw the remnants on the ground, and with one fleeting glance toward the shreds, I notice something.

“Hey mom? Where did the keys go?”

I stand in the kitchen on a cloudy day, rotating on the spot in search of the silvery, worn-down car keys while stroking the key bowl, as though by doing so the keys would magically appear.

“They’re in my purse, dear,” Mom walks into the room. She’s putting in a soft white orb earring and wearing a purple dress.

“Permission to raid your pur- wait. Yeah. Party with dad and the office. Okay, I’ll take Angelica’s.”

“Good idea,” she calls, as I run up the stairs.

Down the hall. Left. Last door. I knock a few times before opening it and sticking my head in.

“Yo. It’s a Thursday. I require keys,” I said

Angelica and one of her friends, I think her name might be Bethany, are sitting on the carpeted floor of A’s room. Newspaper is spread out in front of them, and their feet rest upon it; various color of nail polish are scattered around them.

Angelica’s eyes narrow slightly, “Use Mom’s.”

                “She and Dad have a party with his department, remember?”

                We stare at each other for a moment, her eyes narrowed and mean, mine expectant.

                “Ugh. Fine.” She stands awkwardly, trying not to get her still-wet blue nail polish on the carpet.

                As she waddles over to her desk, the possible Bethany speaks, “Wait…what happens on Thursday?”

                “Band practice.” I say simply, as Angelica tosses me the keys in a way that could have been a lot nicer.

                “You’re in a band?!” Angelica’s friend says with a gasp, “Angie! You never told me that!”

                “Yeah, she is. She’s the bassist. And ew! Don’t ever call me-“

                I slam the door shut, and could therefore not hear the rest of Angelica’s sentence, but as a student with a 3.32 Grade Point Average, I could have a pretty accurate guess.