Here is the first part of my new book! I hope you like it.
“What did you do to your hair? You look like a six year old!” I smirked. Fern shrunk into the corner, her big green eyes imploring me to stop. But I just kept going. “Girls, did you see that she got 100% on that math test this morning? Such a show off!” My friends Danielle and Brianna chuckled behind me, and nodded in agreement. “You think you’re better then everyone! Don’t you?” I taunted, putting my face up to Fern’s. Tears were trickling down her cheeks. A pang of guilt hit my chest, but I ignored it. “Oh, look at the baby! She’s crying!” We laughed. Now Fern was crumpled in a ball on the ground, head in her hands. I decided it was time to back down before we got in trouble. I flounced off with a smirk over my shoulder, and we ran off down the sidewalk. As I ran I felt a little sad, a little guilty. I had made this innocent girl cry again. But I couldn’t stop. It felt so good to get that anger out, to heal the wounds. My friends were whispering and giggling about our latest attack, but for once I didn’t join in. I convinced myself that she deserved it, I mean, who gets 100% percent on that test? No one did but her. She must be a show off. I shook it off and joined my friends on the conversation.
I sighed with relief when Emerson finally left. I wiped my eyes with my hands and stood up shakily. I grabbed my backpack which they had wrenched off my shoulders and thrust to the ground. I put it back on, and headed home. As I crossed the street, I thought about telling the principal on Emerson and her buddies, but I shook my head sadly to myself. I couldn’t. Whenever I tell someone, they make some excuse about why they did it or lie. For instance taking my backpack and throwing it, they would have said it had been choking me and they had done it for safety reasons. And since they were so good in class and around everyone else, people always believed them. I trudged up my driveway and through the front door. Mom wasn’t home as usual. There was a note on the kitchen table.
I’m sorry I’m not home again honey, I work until 9:30 tonight. Get your homework done and then you are allowed to watch TV for an hour. Agree with Zofia on the channel, if you fight, no TV. Help yourself to the salad from last night for dinner, it’s in the fridge. Love you sweetie!
I sighed. My mom was almost never home before eight in the evening, and often was called out on emergency. She was a surgeon at a very big hospital in the city, and was needed almost every hour of the day. I put down the note and turned to the fridge. I opened it and took out the cold, limp chicken lettuce salad, which was in a bowl covered in foil. I removed the foil and dug in with a fork. I pulled out my homework and set it on the table beside me. While I was doing this, I caught sight of a picture of my dad on the wall. He had curly black hair like mine, and was tall and strong. Who would have guessed he would die from cancer the year after that photo was taken? He had died from lung cancer when I was five, and my little sister Zofia was three. Speaking of which, where was Zofia? I tiptoed upstairs, and knocked on her bedroom door.
“Come in!” A voice said. I pushed the door open and saw my ten year old sister lying on her bed, working on her homework. Her gorgeous blond waves flowed over the paper, and she brushed them out of the way. My sister had way better luck at school then I did. We had moved here a year ago, and started school. She was outgoing and cute, and soon became very popular. I was shy, and small for my age. Zofia was only an inch shorter then me! Emerson soon began to bully me, along with what she calls her gang, Danielle and Brianna. She smiled at me.
“Could you help me with this problem?” She said, holding up her math folder. I sat on the bed, and explained to her how the division worked. She soon found the answer and thanking me, continued her work.