The Secrets of Smosh (Maricorn)

Chapter 1 Mari

"Yeah, I'm all unpacked now. Just leave me alone," I snapped at my mother. It was raining outside. In fact, it had been raining since we got here two weeks ago. I fucking hate Oregon, I hate this place. I want to go back to warm, sunny California. I checked my iPhone, 85 degrees in Sacramento right now. I shoved my face into my pillow and screamed. Fuck Oregon. Even the name sounds ugly, like its a name for the troll in Jack and The Beanstalk. "Well I was just making sure that you're ready for school tomorrow," said my mother. Wow, she's still here. I didn't notice.
I walked over to my laptop and pulled open my e-mail. Shit, my publisher wants another chapter by next Thursday. I haven't even started it yet. I guess this should impress the average person that I'm an author in the eyes of a real publishing company. But writing has always come naturally to me, I find that words spill themselves out upon an empty document before I've even thought them. I pull up Google Drive and click on Runaway. It's about a girl who lives in Brazil in the year of 2149.. "Mari! There's another box of your stuff down here!" "Ook mom! I get it!" I stomped downstairs and grabbed the box labeled, "Mari's Writing Stuff". It contained all my notebooks I've filled up with short stories and chunks of stories that I'll never look at or finish, but still won't throw away. Plus pages of my story that's currently en route to fully published. I sat back down at my laptop that my mother got me once I found a publisher. My fingers hovered over the keys. "I need a break," I said mostly to myself. My cat was sitting on my desk flicking her tail in what seemed to be in time to the music pulsing from my older brothers room. I ran downstairs and paused at the door. I took hold of a yellow umbrella standing by the door. I was still in my California clothes. My mother bought me a bunch of new clothes that I would need for this god forsaken place. I refuse to wear them.

I stepped outside in light blue silk shorts and a white, lacy tank. Our apartment was on the bottom floor in this super fancy apartment building. The back door opened up onto this boardwalk that ran behind our building and several others. Beyond that was the Columbia River. I stepped onto the boardwalk and walked over to the edge and stared out into the gray river, resting my chin on my balled up fists. I stepped away from the edge while colliding with a bicyclist. My head smacked the wood. "Oh my god! Are you okay?" the bicyclist fretted. I didn't answer. In fact, I didn't even register that someone was talking to me. My head was still spinning and hurt so fucking bad. I lost it.