The Girl With The Blue Hoodie

Chapter 1

© Copyright 2012 by C.A.B.

~Five Days Earlier

I wake up to the usual dissonant sound of my alarm clock.

Ugh. Great.

A day of school is totally what I need.

Throwing my sodden, worn-down blanket off, I trudge out of my bed and head straight to my dresser. I sigh and push on my black, "hipster" (cringe) glasses WITH a prescription (no, I do not wear the tacky plastic ones you get from one of those overly-priced movie theaters, dear me, no) and peer into the mirror. My black-as-night, straight-as-a-ruler hair was touseled in a variety of directions, and my chalky skin was a dripping, rosy red from my usual tossing-and-turning routines.

Finally, I took a closer examination on my eyes. Said eyes captured everyone's attention. You'd think, well, eyes will be eyes. They're just eyes. No. They're not just your typical brown or blue colored eyes.

Or at least mine aren't, anyway,

I have violet colored eyes.

The funny thing is that my name is Violet. Haha.

Well, anyways...

No one in my family knew where the hell this mysterious pigmentation showed up. I was born with gray eyes to begin with just like everyone else in my family, but as I grew up, they morphed into a violetish tint and then into a royal purple color. I mean, it's not such a big deal if you think about it, but it made me feel...

Special.

It may sound shallow, but all my life, my purpleish colored eyes made me feel like I was actually different from everyone else; like I was actually unique. Sure, everyone always tells you, "You're special in your own way...irreplaceable." but I never believed it. Sigh. That's just me, I guess. After all, I am a big time pessimist.

I stepped away from my mirror and started to brush my hair until it looked almost decent. Throwing on a pair of purple skinny jeans, a black "Paramore" band tee shirt, and my black Converse, I walked in my slow pace out of my room and down the stairs to the kitchen.

My older brother Jarrod turned to look at me from the counter. "Hey, Pasty."

I ignored his greeting. Another family gene I did not inherit (unfortunately) was a tannish complexion. Everybody in my family had a somewhat tan-tint in their skin coloring. I, on the other hand, am a pale "vampireish" color. Being pale stinks. You have no idea how many times I've gotten sunburned. Sigh. It's funny how traits work out.

Grabbing a granola bar and a banana, I grab my backpack and begin munching away on my small breakfast. I was about to head upstairs. Stopping myself, I ask Jarrod, "Hey, did Dad leave early again today?"

Jarrod gulped down on his orange juice and nodded. "Yup. Like always."

"Cool," I replied. I didn't really mind that my dad left early for work. Sure, the house was occupied with just me and Jarrod, but eh...my dad and I never did get along that well, anyway. Ever since my mom died (long story), he's been rough on me. I bring home a B, he wants an A. I clean the whole house for kicks and giggles and miss one spot...he gets all angry at me. I never did anything right. It didn't help that he was totally NOT supportive of me, either. He thinks my taste in music is "Satanic", that I was too "fat", that I was a "dumb broad"...the list just escalates into infinity. We didn't have a lovely history. I wanted to make him proud. I really did. Despite our misdemeanors, he was my dad. I couldn't let him down.

I arrived at my bathroom and began brushing and flossing my teeth and washing my pale, pale face. After that, I applied my daily makeup: my inky black eyeliner and my smoky-gray eyeshadow.

Yes, yes, I DO wear a little bit of makeup.

Hey, come on now. I'm a freshman in high school...not some little 5 year old tyke.

At least I don't wear as much makeup as the "In-crowd" at my school. Boy, they look like they're applying to be the Head Clown at the circus. Foundation, bronzer, and concealer shrouded their face from society, and their eyes were masacared with heavy mascara, eyeliner, and eyeshadow. Don't even get me started on their lipstick. It was a living disaster, but at the same time, I kinda wanted to laugh at their frivolous attempts to look "beautiful". I mean, I'm not super pretty either, but at least I'm not a super big try-hard.

I trudgeity-trudged down the stairs and grabbed my backpack and blue hoodie from the coat rack near the front door. I couldn't go a day without this baby. The hoodie, I mean...not the stupid backpack.

It was my last reminder of my mother; my beautiful mother. No joke, but she was the best mom a girl...no, any kid could ever have. From the minute you popped out of her womb, you'd know that. She was beautiful, she was kind, she was understanding...and she was EVERYTHING I wanted in a parent...or a person altogether. My heart sunk like an anchor at the thought of my mom. Man, I missed her so much. She was one of the only people I could talk to about anything, really and didn't judge me for the things I loved unlike my dad.
My mom never called me lame nicknames like Jarrod did. At the end of the day, she was someone I could look up to. It's weird how she got married to my dad. It didn't look like they'd be ones to get along. But whatever....I guess love is love.

Jarrod and I walked out the front door to wait for our bus. The bus was one of the worst places...'err things I've ever been in in my entire life. It was smelly, full of annoying, bratty kids, and it was coated such an ugly color; a cheesey yellow. Ugh. It was a terrible excuse for transportation. Buuut you get what you get...

Silence filled the gap between us waiting for the bus and the bus actually coming here. Jarrod was a junior. He was about 5'11" and had brownish-black, shaggy hair that fell into jagged bangs, big, gray eyes, and a smirk on his face that could never be wiped off. It was like someone had drawn it in with a Sharpie or something. Sure, we had the same taste in pretty much everything, but he was a cold-blooded creature. He was harsh and conceited and thought the world revolved around him and him alone. Plus, he's always looking down on me and calling me annoying things like "Pasty". You learn to get used to him, but I guess he doesn't really appreciate me...just like my dad.

Suddenly, I see a yellow rectangle zooming down the road and teetering to a halt in front of us. The bus doors swung open.

I started walking to get onto the bus, but Jarrod shoved me, the growing smirk everpresent on his face, and said, "Out of my way, Pasty. Make room for the stud."

Oh, right. Jarrod was a total girl magent. He had little upperclassmen, lowerclassmen, and girls period gushing over him about every 3 seconds.

He enjoyed it, too...too much for his own good, in fact.

Damn, I wish he was unattractive to girls at our school. They're all just massaging his ego and making it 90 times the size of his head.

Thanks to them, that humungous ego is what I have to deal with at home.

I ignored his rudeness and stepped onto the bus.

Another day of high school hell, here I come.