Two-Faced [on-hold]

Two-Faced: First Days (1)

             CHAPTER ONE:

Glancing up at the old-fashioned wall clock perched inside my family’s kitchen, I bounce my leg, the anticipation of getting out of the house unnerving.  Sure, it’s like, the third week of summer, but I can’t help it; if there’s one thing I hate, it’s this: being late on the first day of starting something new, and with the speed my mom is choosing to move this morning, the probability of it happening is increasing with each tick of the clock. 

            Five minutes later, I resort to studying my home, something I find myself doing often because of the same excuse: Mom needs to put her face--I mean--make-up, on.  The walls are bland, white like any other typical household; the amount of furniture we own is a little on the scarce side, but it hardly matters since I only have a family of fou--three.  We never have guests over, either, because my home is on the smaller side with only two bedrooms and one bath, and it would hardly make for an ideal gathering place.  I’m normally off at my friends’ houses if I want to stay overnight somewhere else.

            When I finish counting the number of wood paneling on the floor of my living room, I huff, standing up and stomp over to the bathroom.  “Mom!” I yell, pounding on the door.  “Hurry up!  We’re going to be late!”  Typically it would be considered abnormal for a 16-year-old girl to want to get out of the house in such a hurry at 7:30 AM, but seeing as I have places to go and things to do, I think I make an exception. 

            “Okay!”  I barely hear my mom’s muffled response over the running water of the sink, and my gaze drifts to the portrait of a young child propped on the wall, the mahogany of the frame polished religiously showing brightly.  My eyes never the leave the portrait, and feelings of hurt pass over me, and my jaw sets to keep tears away.  I try to look at something else but the picture as I wait for my mother, but it’s no use: my gaze always lands on his face, the grin of his tiny lips huge.  My mother opens the door abruptly, startling me because I have yet to move from my spot.  “Whoa, personal space,” she says, but she cracks a smile. 

I look her over, the feelings of dread leaving as I try to figure out why it had taken her so long to get ready; she’s the co-chairwoman to some corporation, which is a huge deal to her because she worked so hard to earn the position, but it makes no impact to me whatsoever.  And it’s not that I don’t love her or anything, but she can be, like the perfect “all-business” bun it probably took her thirty minutes to put up alone, a little uptight; for whatever reason, however, her strictness skipped her drive to come out of the bathroom and bring me to places on time, even though I’m the one that drives.  Convenient, I know.

            “Alright Kacie, where are we going again?”

            I roll my eyes because I must have told her about fifty times over the weekend where I’m going today since I’m pretty much exploding with excitement.  “The preschool,” I finally say.

            Once the door is locked up tight and I’m swinging around towards the driver’s side of the car, I grab the collar of my shirt and air it out, the early morning sun already too hot for me.  Making the AC top priority, I face towards it for a good ten seconds, letting the cool air blow over my face; when I feel like it’s really sixty degrees instead of eighty, I start up the engine and reverse carefully.

            “Make sure you don’t hit anything or anyone,” my mom says absently, her eyes focusing on the pull down mirror because she’s trying to put on even more make-up.  I only sigh, biting my tongue from saying that I already have my provisional license, which means I passed my road test, and California’s DMV believes I’m capable of operating a car on its public roads.