Aria Sutton

Chapter 1

Pen scratching on paper, the dim lighting isn't ideal although it's just bright enough to illuminate my desk. Flooded with paper, my desk is a mess. I begin carelessly throwing paper across the room in search of one piece. Kicking the wall with anger, the sound echoes, eventually fading away. I give up. Yawning, I hastily flick the lamp switch and gradually stumble back to my bed, bumping into everything on the way through, and finally tripping over my rug. Pulling my lifeless body up from the ground I sprawl across my bed. Staring at the roof, I begin to focus on my breath, in and out, in and out, in and ...

Jolting up abruptly, the screeches of my mother shake me awake.

"Breakfast Aria," my mother screamed from down stairs, then adding "we are leaving in ten minutes so get moving!"

I slide off the side of my bed, the shock of the ice cold floorboards against my bare feet cause me to shiver as I walk over to my wardrobe. With each step I shudder the sharp, cold pain shoots up through my body, it gets very cold here in London, too cold.

Walking down the staircase, I can barely lift my feet off the ground. With much effort I eventually reach the kitchen. Black. Why anyone would paint a whole house that colour I will never know. Black cupboards, window frames, benches, tables and every other item a house would have. Pushing the colour out of my mind, I move over towards the table and grab the black bowl sitting on it. Great, cornflakes. The most boring breakfast on the planet. Why would anyone buy this stuff? I eat quickly, not bothering to even pull a chair out, and then start running around in search of my things.

Bag packed, I begin to pull my shoes on. I turn to see my mother winding down the window of the car parked in our narrow driveway. Also black.

"Hurry up!" she yells at me, clearly straining her voice.

My shoelaces only half tied up, I sprint to the car. Slamming the door behind me we are on our way.

The car is silent, the relationship between my mother and I is complicated ever since my father died. We just argue and the whole thing turns into a screaming match, so I just try to avoid conversing with her at all.

As we drive through the gates, the obnoxious bright blue buildings catch my eye, it's something compared to my black house. Opening the door of the car, I slide out holding my skirt down to prevent it blowing up. Ahead of me swarms of children chatter loudly, chasing each other, throwing balls. Heart racing I climb the steps cautiously so I don't trip and make a mockery of myself in the first thirty seconds. I continue to the large building labelled 'Office'.

Opening the door, a girl about my age brushes my shoulder, her head down. Long strands of wavy bright red hair lye down her back. Shaking my head, I forget about her and continue walking towards the desk. Wondering whether anyone is there, I stretch onto my toes and reach over the desk to see a rather short old lady with small rectangular glasses on the tip of her nose. Her face covered in wrinkles buried in a large book, her shoulders slumped and her body slumped over. I force a small cough to gain her attention. Slowly, she pulls her head up, her eyes meet mine, her gaze piercing.

"Excuse me,'' I begin, "I am new here," I add slowly, not sure what to say.

"That's obvious," the woman says abruptly, "Name and age?" she asks.

"Aria, 9," I reply.

"Take two lefts and a right, 3A. Goodbye." she tells me, obviously wanting me to leave. I stagger out of the building, well that lady was rude, I just hope my teacher is a little bit nicer.

I've never gone to school before, my father used to homeschool me before his untimely death. He was my hero, my leader, my inspiration, the person whom I admired most. Of course he still is, even though he isn't beside me, he is still with me, inside. Somewhere. My father's death was a surprise, one day he was alive and the next, well, he was gone. He died almost a month ago, but I still miss him and have barely gone out of my room since.

When my father, Evan, Evan Sutton, was still with us, the house wasn't the hideous black colour it is now. I was red, the type of red you would find on a fire truck or the colour of the decorations on the Christmas tree. Bright red. The furniture inside our house was every colour of the rainbow, yellow, orange, blue and even purple. It felt happy, like home. But now it feels far from home; jail-like.

As I arrive at the classroom I slowly walk in, the feeling of unease overwhelms my body. Scared, I continue to walk into the room. I begin to notice the other children in the room, all laughing and smiling, all of them are happy. Suddenly, I hear my name.

"Aria?" the woman asked, I assume she is the teacher so I answer her.

"Yes," I respond, unsure.

"Its okay," she said assuringly, "don't be nervous, your desk over here next to Evelyn," she lead me over to a desk. A grey square table with a small draw beneath, a book lying on top labelled 'Textbook'.

"I am Miss Winters, I am your teacher, take a seat and I will call Evelyn," she said, encouraging me to sit down.

The girl I assume is called Evelyn walks over to me slowly and introduces herself, we begin talking awkwardly for a couple of minutes until interrupted by the bell. It wasn't the type of conversation you have with your best friend, it was forced. She asked me things like, 'What's your favourite colour,' or 'What's your favourite movie?'. The repetitive chime of the bell gets rather irritating after about five rings but I figure I will have to get used to it.

Class begins with maths,

"Does anyone know what six multiplied by seven is?" Miss Winters begins.

I slowly reach my hand up, looking around slowly, I am the only one that has done so.

"Yes Aria," she says.

"Forty-two," I reply quickly.

The class begins to murmur around me saying things such as "How does she know that?" or "She's a genius".

You can imagine how the rest of the day played out. People whispering things behind my back, 'The new girls a nerd' and 'She is such a show off'. I just ignored them, it's not like I had a close relationship with anyone besides my father. He was the one and only person I got along with, he understood me, and I understood him.