Temporary

Chapter One: Melany

     Note: The first two chapters of this story might be a little boring, but don't worry, it gets better. These chapters are just introducing our two main characters. Hope you enjoy! -Waverly

     My favorite part of writing is that you can be whoever you want. You can create whoever you want. My dream is to become a writer. I want to write novels that make people laugh and cry and tremble with emotion. I want my name and my work to be on the bestseller's list. But that's never going to happen and let me tell you why.

     As much as I want all these things, I can't make it a reality. There's only one thing I want more than being a successful author: to be able to provide for my future family. I want to grow up and have kids that aren't embarrassed to go to the store with me because I'm using food stamps. Or having to worry that our electrical bill is going to get paid. I don't want my kids to have a childhood like mine.

     I grew up in a travel trailer in Pittsburgh with my mom and my dad. We'd bounce from trailer park to trailer park because they never paid their rent. They told me we had to leave because they "weren't feeling" that park. But even as a five-year-old, I knew that wasn't true. There were many nights when we had to stay in Wal-Mart parking lots with no running water or electricity.

     But things changed a bit when I started kindergarten. My mom became pregnant with my sister, so between that and me starting school, they decided we needed a real place to live. They somehow scraped up enough money to rent a small, two-bedroom house in Erie, Pennsylvania. And that's where we are now. Well, sort of. My dad left us three and a half years ago when I was fourteen. I came home from school one day and he was gone. He had left and never came back. I never found out why. Every time I bring it up, my mom changes the subject.

     And that brings us to the present day. I walk through the front door of the house at about six pm on a Friday. I tell my mom that I have tutoring after school from 4-6, when in reality, I go to my secret writing place and just write. I let out all of my feelings that are kept inside me during the day. It's like a free therapy session.

     I toss my backpack on the couch and turn on the light. There's countless fast food cups from my mom and sister's "dinners" from the past few days littering the coffee table and surrounding floor. I swear, nobody ever cleans up around here. I pick them up and put them into the overflowing trashcan. The house is silent except the sound of flies buzzing around the kitchen.

     "I'm home," I announce. The only reply is an echo from the quiet house.

     I walk into my mom's room. She's passed out in her bed still dressed in her work clothes. There's an empty glass of wine on her bedside table and an empty bottle on the floor to accompany it. The wine glass sits on top of a few pieces of opened mail. The electric bill, the water bill, and a letter from our landlord saying that our rent is one week over due. I sigh and take another look at my passed out mother. I love her, but I hope I grow up to be nothing like her.

      I made myself my own "meal" that consisted of a frozen TV dinner, a Sprite, and some Oreos. My mom really doesn't know how to use her food stamps. I eat in the living room because our dining room table has turned into the place for junk mail and other useless things that nobody wants to go through. Then I clean up my mess and go into my room that I happen to share with my twelve-year-old sister.

     My sister, Lila, is sitting on her bed with her headphones in listening to her circa 2010 IPod. She takes out one earbud and I can faintly hear Story of My Life by One Direction playing. She mumbles out a "hey" then puts the earbud back in her ear. I sigh again and gather my clothes and go in the bathroom to take a shower. The only thing that really keeps me going anymore is the thought of leaving this place. I have a plan, you see. I'm going to go to college in Pittsburgh, get a degree in business, have a family, and provide for them. Every time I have days like this, I just think to myself, "One more year."