Wishing App

The Normal Parts

     My name is Sophiey Elizabeth Herald. Sophiey, pronounced "So-fay". When people call my name, they tend to sound a little British, some like it, some are ashamed of it. So instead of So-fay they call me Sophie, or Sophia, normal names that don't sound funny. My Mom would sometimes drop subtle hints to my friends, like "Don't you think that's wonderful, Sophiey" my friends would notice, but I always tell them to just not mind my Mom, she has this thing with my name, always saying,
"I gave you that name, so naturally I would try to shout it."
"You're Sophiey, not Sophie or Sophia."
     To me, a name's a name. Nothing more, nothing less.

     Honestly, my name might be the only thing unusual about me. I'm just a normal 13 year old girl who likes Ice Cream and strongly dislikes going to school. My family is pretty normal too, always nagging Mom, fun-time Dad, and obnoxious older brother. My friends are normal too, so is my popularity, people know me, some don't. My Grades, not so bad, but not so good either, enough to pass, but not enough to be called smart.

     Being normal isn't so bad, but it does have some bad sides.

"Sophiey!"
I close my eyes and lay back deeper into my bed. Feeling the sun on my skin from my open window. My mind wanders to the beach, I imagine my feet in my sand, the waves lapping somewhere nearby. I open my eyes, expecting to see the blue sky with the rolling clouds, tinted orange from my Rayban sunglasses, but instead, I see the chipping white paint from my bedroom ceiling. I should tell Dad that we should repaint it, a painting of the wide blue sky.

"Sophiey!" Thundering footsteps follow the screech. "When will you come down?"
"You just disturbed the peace, you should get arrested," I shout back.
The footsteps stop at my door.
"Sophiey. Get. Out. Of there." She takes a collective breath, "NOW!"

     I jump out of bed, knowing that my Mom has reached her boiling point. I don't want to get out of the comfort of my bed, knowing what's about to come. It seems tempting to jump head first into the soft mattress to ignore the world, but I know too well what would happen, so I stand and face the horror that awaits me.

*     *     *

I plummet into my own despair, laying face down on my bed. I didn't expect that, I thought it had something to do with my grades, my report cards had just gotten in, and my grades were even lower than usual, by usual, I mean they were somewhere between 80 and 87, the highest I ever got was 91, but when I took a look, my mouth went wide and my eyes practically wiggled their way down my arm.
     I had gotten a 78 on almost all of my subjects. Some teachers were nice and had given me my average grade, 80. One of those nice teachers was Ms. Mayfield. When she saw my reaction, she immediately went up to me and asked me if I was fine. No, how could I be? I wanted so say. But I stopped myself, I knew I deserved it, that I should've studied more, but still, in the back of my head, I imagine the teachers forming an evil secret club where they discuss what grade they would give me next. 
     Ms. Mayfield was still waiting for an answer, so instead of speaking, I bang my head on desk and go limp. That was probably an answer itself, the universal answer for "dissapointment".

     But my parents didn't want to talk about that at all. They had said something like,
"Your friends are being a bad influence on you, blah blah blah, we saw them throwing toilet paper at blah blah blah"
So now, I couldn't even hang out with my friends! Two disappointments. I raise my head and flop down on my back. I should study; I think. There's two more months of school and one more test. But as soon as I finish that train of thought, I decide against it immediately.

     I pick up my phone and go on to YouTube, I watch the best of the best vines and start laughing my way out of despair.