Holly

Criticism is welcome.

Chapter One :
What Is Wrong With Me?

My alarm is going off late. I'm missing my bus. All of the kids are teasing me. I take out a gun. I shoot all of them. Then... pain. I'm dead. No, almost dead. More pain. I hear a knife. I'm scared.

Light. It's the sun. I was dreaming.

"Lexy Michelle!"

Everything hits me. Hard. My dad left a couple of months ago. It's not such a bad thing, though, 'cause he was always hurting Mom and being unfair to us kids. My Mom lost her job, so we have no money. Well, not a lot. I'm failing two of my classes - Science and Social Studies. And my little sister is sick. I'm stuck takin' care of her all the time. And Mom, too. Mom's been acting kind of weird lately. She keeps talkin' about havin' a lump in her breast. And if I remember anything from sixth grade last year, it's that lumps usually mean cancer.

"Lexy Michelle Nickels, get your ass down here or you'll be late for school!"

I finally respond to my Mother's call and stomp down the stairs. Well, she's lying. It's the same time I always get up at. Ash is already sitting at the table, forcing down as much food as he can down his throat.

"You're such a pig," I point out to Ash.

He doesn't respond.

"Shut up, you two," Mom scolds.

"But I didn't say anything."

"I'm not going to argue with you, Ashitaka. Just eat your food."

Ashitaka is Ash's real name. It takes too much effort to say Ashitaka. Plus, nobody pronounces his name correctly. I don't care, anyway. Nobody cares about little 4th graders!

"You know, if he eats like this all the time we're not going to have any food left until you find a job."

"Go bring your sister some food."

"Why can't Ash do it?"

"Now."

I walk to the counter reluctantly. I gather two pills, make a piece of toast, pour a glass of orange juice, and figure that's all a sick kid can handle. If she can't handle it, she'll puke it up. The less food I give her, the less food wasted. And less vomit to clean up.

Knock, knock, knock!

"Come in...," a weak voice manages to mutter.

"Here's breakfast, Violet."

"I don't want any."

"Too bad. Eat."

"No."

"Fine."

Taking the tray and Violet's food, I slam the door and stagger back into the kitchen.

"God, I hate that girl," I groan.

"No you don't," Ash says. "She's only four."

"I'm going to go take a shower," I state, exiting the room.

I strip of my clothing and step into the shower. It hurts to turn the knobs. And the water stings my hands. I look at them. I remember last night, before I had gone to bed.

I had been so angry. So mad. And I just.. I cut myself. It was stupid. I used scissors and paper and everything sharp I could find.

And now I'm paying for it. The soap burns. God, it burns. I can't take it! I turn the water off.

"Shit," I breathe.

I turn to the mirror and just stare. And stare. Blue ovals meet my blue ovals. Ugly red hair. Such ugly red hair. I looks kind of blonde. It's very light red. Pinkish, actually. Freckles. Just look at all those freckles! They're everywhere! On my face, my neck, arms, legs, back... why? Mom doesn't have freckles. Dad doesn't.

"Mom, Lex is hogging the bathroom," I hear my pesky brother screech.

"Am not! And don't call me Lex!"

I get dressed. I look in the mirror again. My short body is now covered. I wear dark blue jeans and a plain, white T-shirt. My ears aren't pierced. Everybody else has earrings, it seems like. Not me.

"Hold on a minute! I need to brush my teeth."

I brush my teeth hastily, and then grab my back pack. I head for the door.

"Hey, are you eatin' breakfast?"

"No. See you later, Mom."

I walk out of my house and onto my bus. The back of the bus awaits me. I don't have an issue with the back of the bus. Actually, I like the back seat. But sometimes you want to throw up when you're back there, because the bus sways and turns a lot.

I dig in my book bag for my poetry book and flip to my next blank page. I start writing.

“How can souls not love You?
How can they not love Your name?
Why don't hearts leap a foot or two
When they read about Your grace?

Jehovah, you are wonderful
Jehovah, You are g-"

I'm interrupted.

"Hi!" Zack greets.

"Zachary Michael Edmundson!"

"That'd be me," he replies childishly.

“Don't interrupt me while I'm writing, Zack."

"Why not? Aren't I supposed to? I'm your best friend!"

I growl and rip out the page I was working on.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to do that."

"It was stupid, anyway."

Zack finally sits down. We've been friends forever. His hair used to be red like mine. But then it turned blonde. It turns blonder everyday. Zack's actually a little older than me. Two years, three months, two weeks, five days, seventeen hours, six minutes, and thirty four seconds. But he's failed twice. Kindergarten. That was because of his behavior. He's really smart. So, on his third year of Kindergarten, I came into the picture. We’ve always just been friends, but I feel an attraction toward him these days. I mean, who doesn't love reddish - blonde haired, blue eyed, tall, athletic, nice, and smart guys? And not only is his hair absolutely the most awesome color, it's now kind of long. Half way down his neck.

"You don't write stupid poems."

His sudden comment cuts off my train of thought.

"They're getting worse by the poem."

"Hey, guys," says a familiar voice.

It's Constance Morrow Marie, with her good looks, blonde hair, and gorgeous body. We call her Connie. Zack and I met her on the first day of second grade. She had just moved here. The three of us immediately became a close threesome. We always stuck together and shared everything. To this day, we tell each other everything. Well, almost everything. I obviously can't tell Zack how I feel about him. It would be crazy! It would be weird! Plus, if he actually liked me, too, then Connie would be totally left out. I most definitely would never tell him that.

"Hey, Constance," Zack answers, offering her the seat to his left. Now Connie and I are separated. Zack is surrounded.

"What's up?" she asks.

"Nothing much."

I block out their conversation and start writing.

“This is fear
And pain so great
Gone and sudd'nly reappears
I'm talkin’ 'bout hate

Hate is a feeling
You get when you're mad
'Tis a method of healing
And the way of the the sad

It is revenge and sorrow
It is anger and depression
Hate can come anytime; even tomorrow
And it always teaches a lesson

Hate is your wounder
And also your helper
Hate is your wound
And hate is your bandage"

I look up to find Zack reading over me.

"You know, I didn't give you permission to read my poem."

Zack turns his head away, leans forward, and twists his thumbs around each other over and over again. I shouldn't have said that. He probably hates me now. He probably thinks I'm a stupid bitch. Crap. Why did I snap at him like that? What's my problem? There's only two days of school left and I'm already acting like an idiotic eighth grader! The bus eventually stops. Oh, thank God! I thought that ride would never end!

"Sorry," I say to Zack, desperate to make this day go well.

Zack hugs me.

"No, I'm sorry."

He lets me cry one his shoulder. I cry and cry and cry. And I don't know why. But... I just feel so sad. And mad. For no reason. He probably thinks I'm crazy, weeping over yelling at him. But... no. He doesn't. He knows I'm crazy. Maybe he wasn't looking at the poem. He might have been looking at my hands. Oh shit! What will the teachers say about the cuts? I'm done crying. Stop it, Lexy! Zack is going to think you're a big baby.

I lift up my face and start to wipe my tears. But Zack stops me. He washes away my tears himself. I turn around. Everyone is gone. The old, fat bus driver twists to face us.

"Would you mind leaving already?" the old man complains.

Zack grabs my hand and escorts me out of the bus. The tardy bell pierces through my ears. We're late. Oh, no. I made him late. Why did I have to act like such a baby? What is wrong with me?

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."

Stop saying that! Are you crying again? Stop crying!

"Please stop crying. And you don't need to be sorry. You're a lot more important than getting to class on time."

"Okay. I'm sorry."

"Get to class."

I bury my face in his chest and wrap my arms around him. God, stop it Lexy! You're getting his shirt wet. You look like a fool!

"I'll take you to class," Zack suggests.

"No. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

I nod my head, trying not to let my eyes water again.

God, your eyes are probably all red, Lexy. There's no way in hell your eyes aren't red. I eventually reach my class. Room A13. If you go in there, they are all going to be staring at you. I don't have a pass. Oh, no! I don't have a pass! Should I get one? Did Zack go to get a pass? Go check. Go to the office, Lexy.

I'm walking to the office. Why? This is stupid. What am I supposed to say? Okay. I'm at the office. Now what? Walk in, stupid!

I force myself to walk in. Oh, thank God! Zack's in here! I walk up to him. I look at him for some sign of what to do. He says nothing. He doesn't look at me. Nothing!

PaintedDiary

Dear Holly,
Many mixed emotions here. Very organized, and well thought out writing! I am an 8th -12 th grade Science teacher, and you bring to this all the emotion that I see daily as a teacher. Very real! I loved the way the story unfolded, very clear what you were depicting, and the emotional piece attached, poured off the story like liquid. Also, very clear, that a part 2 in coming. I enjoyed this piece very much, as far as the art for of writing. Sadly, seems to be a movie in many homes. As a teacher, again, I see this daily. Cutting is an issue that I have experienced with some of my 8th grade female students. Breaks my heart. What was your inspiration for this story? For me, the Title and the first couple of lines to the story tell a lot, so in reading those 2 components, I knew, your story was going to be a must read. Misspellings and such can be edited. I do have to pay attention, as to who is speaking and / telling the story, to absorb all.

Painted Diary aka Kim

Holly

Thank you for the compliment(s)! Honestly, I didn't have an inspiration. I just started writing and all this stuff came out...! I tried to make it as realistic as possible.