A Deadly First Love

Chap 2

            I was trudging my way through the forest. I took my time every morning waking up 4 hours before school began. Got dressed and eating took 2 hours. That left 2 more to get to school. I had moved from a big city to a small town in the forest. I actually kind of liked it but I missed the noisy streets, the angry drivers, the corner store on every block, the kids walking in packs, the, dare I say it, gangs, the PDA, the random used condoms on the floor, and the smell of greasy food. They didn't have that here. To get to school I either took the big yellow bus or walked. School was about 10 minutes away if you took the short cut and walked fast but I liked the long way making it 1 hour and 30 minutes. I loved every second of that hour and a half.

            The smell of the dirt, the rustling of the leaves as the wind blows, the left over rain dripping from the high up leaves onto my head, the animals scouring away from my ever advancing figure. It was all so beautiful here. Thick green patches here thick brown patches there. The air smelt fresh and unpolluted. The beautiful daisies and dandy lions. The sway of the green unnamed plants. The dirty half muddy half sturdy ground. The sun peeking through some spots between the leaves, branches, and trees. It was all so musical in away. It's fun listening to the music made by nature. Not many can hear it. Especially us disgusting city people. That thought always brought a smile to my face. Even digesting city people can appreciate the beautiful sight before them. Almost a year and I still can't get over how beautiful and peaceful this place is. It was like my escape. My own personal haven.

            Of course when as soon as I step out the beautiful forest I always have to fix my hair and make sure my clothes are clean, which they always are. Then I have to cross the side walk and wait for the car to stop so I can walk across the street and right into the school hassle free. I wasn't used to that for sure. Usually I would have to force the cars to stop by walking out in front of them. My friends back at home always though I was going to get myself killed like that but I've never once been hurt... although I did almost get hit because a car didn't want to stop but it finally slowed down enough to let me go by. I wasn't scared 'cause if it hit me I wouldn't have to go to school and I could sue that person because I was on the cross-walk not that that meant people actually stopped.

            So that's how I ended up sitting in the very back of my Junior College level English class. I wasn't really paying attention to the teacher, like always but it didn't matter because I was a natural genius when it came to this stuff. English teacher always loved my work. I even had my very first story printed on the newspaper when I was in 6 grade. Yeah, 6 grade brought along a lot of good things. So even though I never listen in English class, except to get my assignment, I was passing with an A-plus. As for the other classes... Well... I get distracted easily. I think I'm doing pretty good though I'm passing with all B's and maybe 2 C's. Though if you compare my grades know to back  in 6 grade you'd know why my mom always put pressure on my academics, especially since I'm the 'genius' in the family. I'm supposed to be the first of my whole family to go to college and graduate with high honors. The pressure would have been on my older brother but he barely managed to pass K-11 grade not to mention that he failed 12 grade and had to go to a special program that let him graduate at the end of summer. So yeah, no pressure right? My family only has one more chance to get it right and it's with me. This part of the reason we moved because the education system was better here the other half is because my mom re-married. That's not really important.         

            The bell rang and I silently waited for everyone to leave the class before getting up and making my way to the door. “Adrian.” I turn around to face my English teacher. He's a burly man. About 6'5”, white hair, go-tee, red face, and a big belly. He's a really nice guy. He plays guitar and is into any kind of music. He's actually my favorite teacher, not because he teaches my favorite subject, because we have a lot in common. It's easy to relate and get your point across if you have a lot in common. “There this work-shop for young writers. I took some of the work you've done over the years and sent them in. For course I expected a response but what I got was more.” His eyes bulged but then he sent them back in his head. “They want to fly you out and make you attend a special... I guess it's almost like a conference. You'll be going to school there for 2 months and then you'll fly back. Everything would be paid for, extra spending money, money for groceries, rent, school fees, flight, everything is paid for. But they need your parents or guardian permission.” He picked up a stack of papers and stuck them in a big yellow file envelope. He closed it and gave it to me. “If you want to do it just tell them to sign the papers. It's a great thing for you because you said you wanted to be a writer right?” It wasn't a question he wanted me to answer but I nodded anyways. “It would look great on your resume when you go to college. This would really improve your chances at getting in any college you want. I know if you went you'd do great.” Such high expectations. Why are the expectations always so high? “They also want to publish a young author’s book. I know you wrote like 6 books already or at least your writing them, and I know you only do it for fun but if you finish them and give it to the Dean of this school and they like it it'll get published. You'll make some easy money doing what you like and when you go to college become a writer and step out into the big world you'll already have made a name for yourself.” I nodded my head mechanically.

            As I was on my way out the door the bell rang. I turned around and asked him for a pass to class. I really didn't need an hour detention tonight. The first two and a half periods passed in a blur. I was in lunch leaning against the wall facing the crowd of students. I had two apple juice bottles in front of me and a book in my hand. I didn't eat lunch. I wasn't that I was sick or anything I just didn't trust school food. The fear probably came from years of eating in rat infested schools. I remember one day my friend found a long piece of grey hair in her pizza. Another day someone found a small hard black ball like substance on her pizza, the same day I saw a rat run into the cafeteria. You could imagine the reason that I wouldn't dear touch a piece of the food from this school. No matter how clean it looked.

            The rest of the day passed just as quick. It was a blur spent with a group of new friends I didn't yet know if I fit in or not and deciding whether I should give the papers to my mother. I was a decent writer but I wasn't that good. I didn't have any special super powers when it came to writing. I just wrote the first thing that came to my head and usually it was, and I quote my teachers here, “amazing” and “wonderful”. I've even heard the kids say “god! I wish I could write like that.” and “That was so deep!”. I think there just being nice.

            Later that day its 6:45 and my mother just got home from work. I walk in the kitchen and she pulls me into a bone crushing hug like always. I say hello and she kisses my cheek. For a moment it's silent. She tells me a little about her day and I look as if I'm listening but I'm still contemplating on whether I should give it to her or not. Somehow as soon as she's done speaking my body moves on its own.

            “Ma. My English teacher signed me up for this thing. It's fully paid so we're not spending money but.” I shrug my shoulders. “They want me to travel or something. I don't where to but he said it would looked good on my resume and we aren’t paying.” My mother’s motto is: If it's free, it’s for me. Of course me being a proud city girl I don't believe in her saying... Well I do but it's just not my motto. My motto is: I deserve the best because I've suffered too much to not deserve it. So I'm almost always broke 'course my definition of broke is when I only have 50 bucks left. I'm a good saver my mother on the other hand not so much.

            I give my mother the large envelope. She opened it and exams its contents. “Alright I look at it.” I nod my head and return to my room. I plug my life line, ipod, into my ears and return to finishing a little poem I wrote. My mother walks in and asks if she could read it. I say no. I never let anyone especially my mom to see my poems. I fear if I should her she would question me about ever having a boyfriend. She still thinks I've never had a boyfriend. In her eyes I guess I'll always be the perfect A-plus little girl I was back in elementary and one year of middle school.