Hello!
Welcome to the first chapter of Being Brooklyn! I hope you enjoy the story! This is my first fan fiction and I basically write anything that comes to mind. Feedback, votes and fanning is much appreciated!
Yours truly,
Ɗєsтıɳʏ.
"Gosh darn it!" I slapped my alarm off, silencing its ruckus immediately.
"Dang. I'm late again." I forced myself out of bed, falling on my face in the process. I trudged to the bathroom and quickly stripped out of my pajamas, hopping swiftly into the shower. I shampooed my hair singing Gotta Be You by my favorite band of all time; One Direction.
"They hottt." I thought to myself as I giggled giddily. I jumped out of the shower and into the steamy bathroom. I grabbed my towel and secured it around my body. I yanked a brush through my sopping wet, wavy, chestnut hair as I quickly blew hot air on it. Then I quickly ran my toothbrush over my perfect, pearly, white teeth. I hopped into my bedroom and pulled a hot pink cropped tee that read PEACE across the chest, over a black cami and forced my legs through a pair of too-skinny, skinny jeans. Finally I pulled on my black converse and stared at my reflection in the mirror.
"If only Mom were here to see me." I sighed to myself as a tear glided down my cheek.
"LET"S GO, BROOKLYN! WE'RE GONNA BE LATE!" My sister, Sophie screeched up the stairs, "BRYAN IS HERE TO PICK US UP ALREADY! HURRY YOUR FAT BUTT UP!" Bryan was my sister's boyfriend of 3 years. I glided, gracefully down the stairs, managing to sling my backpack over my shoulder with one hand and successfully pull my sleek brown hair out of my large brown eyes and into a high ponytail. I slid into the backseat of Bryan's black Ram 3500, putting my hand up, like an Indian chief.
"Hey." I mumbled to Bryan.
"Whatsup, Brooky?" Bryan responded glancing into the rearview mirror as he pulled out of our driveway, knocking over the mailbox while doing so.
I held back a chuckle and replied, "Not much. Same as ever. You?"
Bryan started to open his mouth, but we had pulled into the high school parking lot and Sophie, being the 17 year old she was, was already dragging Bryan towards the stairs.
I climbed out of the back of the car and headed towards the huge glass doors at the entrance of the school, my head bowed. I slowly climbed the stairs towards my locker; number 93. I sighed sadly as yet another tear rolled down my cheek; my locker had once been my dad's locker as well. 5 years ago, when I was 9, my dad had passed away from a brain tumor. My mom couldn't cope with the pain, so she left Sophie and I to fend for ourselves. Ever since then, Sophie and I have successfully dodged the government and have cared for each other. Each other is really all we have.