Broken Cages

Chapter 1

Beth:

Beeep. Beeeeep. Beeeeee- I slammed my hand down on the alarm clock, silencing the shrill beeping that cut through my oblivion.

          I groaned, rolled over, and glared at the glowing red numbers that were the only light in the room. 5:00.

          I glared at it. Here we go again. The purple coverlet slid off my slim frame as I sat up and rubbed my eyes.  I pushed myself off of the bed and nearly slipped onto the hardwood floor. Glowering down at the yellow tank top that had almost killed me, I raised my hand to grab the bar on the headboard- and missed, sending myself tumbling back into bed. Today was going to suck.

          I lay there for ten more minutes, until the snooze alarm went off. This time, I would get up slowly, looking before I leaped.

          Leaning over the edge of the bed, I surveyed my surroundings. The bedroom was a wreck- clothes strewn across the floor, books and general knickknacks cascading out of every box and shelf I possessed. I had just cleaned this place on Monday, and it was only Thursday! Jeez, who needs a demolition crew? Just set me loose on the place!

          I painstakingly placed my foot in the middle of a small square of visible floor, and then slowly set the other down beside it.

          Once my feet were on the ground, I leapfrogged to my closet and picked out a blue baby doll top and skinny jeans and made my way to the door. I brushed my teeth and washed my face in the bathroom just outside my bedroom and trudged down the hallway to my parent’s room.

          I nudged the door open. My mom was curled up in a ball, next to my little sister. Sarah was sucking her thumb and twirling a lock of hair between her fingers at the same time.  What a multitasker. I tiptoed across the room and started rubbing Mom’s back. A few seconds later, good mood ensured, she opened one bleary eye and smiled at me.

          “Morning.”                                                                                

           I smiled back.

          “Morning. It’s 5.” My mother could never wake up to an alarm clock. The last one she owned ended up in multiple pieces on the floor, so I usually tried to stay on her good side when she woke up.

          She slowly unrolled and blundered into the bathroom. I heard the shower faucet turn on.

          I rolled my eyes as she wandered back to bed, arms stretched out in front of her so she wouldn’t run into anything.

          “Mom!”

“What?” she replied grouchily. “Go away.”  

“You know, if you leave the water on, Dad will kill you for the water bill, even if you’re just trying to warm it up.” That got her up. She grumpily went back into the bathroom, shooting me a hateful glare. Feelin the love, Mom.

I took a shower of my own, then tripped down the stairs and through the living room. In the kitchen, I pulled open the fridge and took out the pitcher of sweet tea. Pouring myself a glass, I guzzled half of it down after the huge pill for my allergies. Energized, I flew to the mudroom and started digging through gigantic piles of shoes, looking for my green flip-flops.

           I found them under Mom’s raincoat, slipped them on, and lifted my dark blue book bag from its peg.

          Back in the kitchen, I glanced at the clock on the microwave. 6:10. I was late again! I sped to the bathroom and started yanking a brush through my hair, wishing it wasn’t so straight. I love curls, but my friends who possess such lovely locks just sit and fondle my pathetic little waves, sighing. Whatever.

          I hurriedly threw it up into a ponytail, grabbed my book bag from where I had set it on the table, and set out for the bus stop.

           The hundred or so meters’ walk would have been a lot nicer if it hadn’t been raining. I started running with a loud exclamation (that I’ll refrain from writing down).

          I reached Austin’s house (his driveway is the bus stop) only slightly saturated and took cover on his (thankfully) roofed front porch. I pulled out my ipod from the smallest pocket on my book bag and jammed to Runaway by Avril Lavigne until the other seven high schoolers arrived.

          The bus was late again, so everyone else awkwardly pulled out his or her ipod as well. Silently, we waited until the ancient Bus 236 chugged down the street.

          As one, the eight of us rose from our perches all over the porch and ran for the shelter of the bus.

          I made my way to seat 7. The others sat down, and the bus resumed its trek into the rain. We drove slowly through the neighborhood, picking up the other poor saps caught in the downpour as we went.

          I leaned my head against the rickety old window and watched the other side of the street; a huge van was parked in front of Caleb’s (a jerk in my Chemistry class) house. Caleb and a boy dressed all in black were unpacking a pair of black suitcases.  

          The latest riders sat down and we started moving again. Looks like Caleb missed the bus.