improvisation ✔️

♡ o n e

Bzzzzzzzzzzz

'Eugh' I said hitting the annoying alarm clock on its head. 'Shut up.' Like it could hear me.

'Isabelle! Time to get up!'
'No, I'm too tired.'

My mum entered my room dressed in her work clothes; long skirt and blouse. She was shoeless and wearing her bare minimum makeup.
'That's what you say every morning love, but you just have to get up and get on with it.'
'I feel sick, I can't.' I groaned.
'You said that yesterday too.' She laughed at me. 'Now c'mon or you'll be late.'
'Good.'
'Isabelle, now.' Her joking tone was turning into a more serious tone to let me know that I should get up and stop acting about.

'Fine.' I threw my covers, that were half on the floor, away from me.

I hated school. A lot. But who didn't? I don't know if anyone who enjoyed the suffering that was education and the early start that came with it, and if I did, I think I would stay well away - how could you like getting up early then get excited at the thought of sitting for 6 hours in what was basically a prison.

-

I got up and shuffled to the bathroom, still half asleep, and looked in the mirror.
'Yeesh.' I said at the drugged looking creature that stared back at me.

I hopped in the shower only to be met, not the warm water I wished for but, with rather an ice cold liquid pouring out at me.
'Agh!' Someone had turned down the heat; Josh. That prick.

I turned the heat up and waited a few seconds for the water to return to a calming temperature.

I washed myself and hair before stepping out of the shower and nearly slipping on the tiled floor.
'Why tiles? You know they're slippy when they're wet, why have them in a bathroom where they're obviously going to get wet?'

I got dressed into a pair of ripped jeans and my favourite oversized hoodie, slipped on some Vans and stood in front of my steamed up mirror once again.

'Where's the hairbrush?' I rustled around in the drawers then looked up beside the sink. 'There you are.' I grabbed the bristled brush and ran it through my wet mop of hair.

I tried drying and straightening my hair as best I could while trying to put on my makeup. At least I looked decent, I didn't try to look good for boys; I was more or less a banana skin in comparison with most girls at my school.

—

The guys at my high school were all douches and thought that they were amazing just because they could kick a ball and tackle someone. None of them was overly good looking. Apart from Dylan.

Oh God, he was the hottest guy in school, and he knew it. He never dated any girls, for some reason, but if he wanted to he could pick from flocks of girls that would die to be his girlfriend.

I liked Dylan, but he was way out of my league; he was the schools, bad boy and ultimate god. I know that's a bit cringey but everything about him was ethereal; he had perfect features, a well-structured face, chocolate brown eyes that could make your heart skip a beat but also cut it in half and make it bleed with one dismissive look. His jawline was so sharp it could cut diamonds. He had plump lips that belonged to a model. He had an amazing body, and I know I sound like a bit of a perv but he did. Everyone knew it, including him.

He wasn't the type to show off with his popularity but stuck to himself and hung around the edges of the schoolyard smoking and talking to his tight-knit group of friends.

He usually wore black and white; black ripped jeans; white shirt; black jacket and shoes and damn he looked good in them.

I needed to stop thinking about him, but couldn't.

—

I trotted downstairs and into the kitchen where I was met with glares from my older brother Josh. He was a prick; apart of that group of guys who had like 10 girlfriends and thought they were amazing.

Like me, he had ocean blue eyes and rich brown hair. I had freckles and wore glasses for reading, he didn't. He was tall and had broad shoulders, I was shorter and was what my mother called; petite. I hated the word purely for the way she said it; all nice and like I was a baby, eugh.

I grabbed a piece of toast that sat on a plate on the table and went to get my bag.
'Isabelle where are you going?' My father asked passing me as I left the kitchen.
'Bag.' I said, a mouthful of toast.
'Don't talk with your mouth full. I've said that before.'
I took the toast out of my mouth, turned to him and said. 'Well, you asked.' I smiled at him and walked on knowing I was being given a look of disapproval behind my back.

*

'Time to go Josh!' My mother shouted up the stairs; she was doing the school run today.
'Coming!' He said bounding down the staircase. I rolled my eyes. You can see why I stay well away from him.

'I call shotgun!' He yelled grabbing his bag and running out the front door. Sometimes I wondered if he was really my older brother or if he was just younger but taller.

I shared a look with my mother.
'Ignore him.' She said, her hand patted my shoulder and she made her way to the door.
'What do you think I've been doing all these years.' I replied walking out the door after her.

**