"Mum, I'm home!" I call out, closing the front door and slipping my bag off my shoulder.
"Hello sweetheart," She says, looking up briefly from her painting as I enter the kitchen and put my bag on the table. "How was your day?"
"Alright, it's the second-to-last day so we didn't do much,"
"That's nice," She says absently. I go stand behind her and look over her shoulder to see what she's painting. A heather. Again.
"That's nice Mum," I say, glancing at the wall covered in the previous heather paintings, all 20 of them. That isn't even all of them. "But you really must start painting something else or you'll wear the subject to death."
"Nonsense," She says, "Heathers are pretty!"
"Yeah, but you should paint, I dunno, a bird or something."
"Birds poop everywhere and fly away after a while. I couldn't possibly get one to stay still long enough!"
"Ever heard of photographs?"
"Alright, no need to get snappy. I'll paint one tomorrow. Or next week. Or next month. Or-"
"-Never?" I interrupt, irritated. "Right, well, thanks for taking in my suggestion so graciously." I stomp over to my bag as Mum mutters under her breath about 'disrespect' or whatever Mums mutter about. I take out my lunchbox just as I hear the front door slam again.
"Hola Mother!" Comes a familiar, chirpy voice. As soon as Mum hears it she seems to perk up. It's Heather.
Heather is my little sister, but only by an hour. And though we're twins, we couldn't be any more different. She has green eyes; I have blue, she has blonde hair; I have dark brown, she has tanned, flawless skin; I am pale and have freckles on my nose, she is unbelievably popular and has tons of friends; I am unbelievably unpopular and my only friends are my Dad, our elderly dog and my cousin, she is petite and beautiful; I am freakishly tall with a normal weight who isn't much to look at. She also puts on this ever so posh voice around 'Mother and Father', when at school she sounds as normal, if not slightly higher pitched, as me. I say normal, we're lower middle class so we're still quite posh. Also, around our parents, Heather makes me look like the bad guy by putting on an act that she loves me even though I make no effort to do the same, when in reality she loathes me as I loathe her. Anyway, in short, Heather is so perfect I'm convinced she's a robot who was switched at birth with my real sister and was placed here by the government to test my patience.
Heather breezes in, golden hair left long and loose down her back, and beams at Mum.
"Hello angel," Mum beams, standing up to hug her. "How was your day?"
"Oh it was magnificent Mother!" She replies, beaming back. "I can't wait for the summer, though, because it means I can spend lots of time with you!"
"Oh sweetheart, that's lovely!"
I groan and roll my eyes, turning to the dishwasher and putting my lunchbox in there. But I didn't empty my lunchbox at lunch so the sandwich crusts, my juice bottle and Hula Hoop wrapper all land on the floor.
"Pick that up Cassandra," Mum snaps.
"Honestly Cass, what are you like?" Heather says. I glare at her in fury, but she just grins at me, intensifying my glare. She turns back to Mum and babbles on as I dump the stuff in the bin and finish putting my lunchbox in the dishwasher. I return to the table and take out the books I won't need tomorrow.
"Cass-" Heather starts before I cut her off.
"-Cassie-" I interrupt, correcting her. But she just ignores me and continues.
"-Can you believe we are almost Year 11? Time's just flown by so quickly!"
"I can believe I am, but I can't believe that you are," I mutter.
"Why not?"
"Because I thought you wouldn't be able to cope with GCSE curriculum so I'm surprised you're getting this far, that's all,"
"Cassandra!" Mum warns.
"Cassie," I correct.
"No, Cassandra, your name sounds horrible shortened,"
"No, it sounds horrible not shortened or shortened to anything but Cassie! Why don't you make Heather call me Cassandra, anyway?"
"Because she has good judgement and I don't run her life,"
"Yet you run mine?"
"Honestly Cassandra, you're such a-"
"-Disappointment?" I interrupt, trying to sound angry. But I can't stop the catch in my throat.
"Cass, you can be so rude!" Heather scolds.
"Cass, you can be so rude!" I mimic whilst I storm out the room and stomp up the stairs, making as much noise as possible.
YOU ARE READING
New Kid in America
Teen Fiction'Looking at the school from afar, it looks exactly like all the films and TV programmes. Even the people seem to act the same. Something tells me that the cool kids back home wouldn't stand a chance here, which means only one thing; I'll be eaten al...
