Young Writers Society

Chapter One

I walked down the halls and I could sense that all through the school, I was being whispered about. My appearance was extremely different from the rest of the girls, considering I was wearing baggy, comfortable clothes. All the other girls were wearing tank tops and mini-skirts, which was what people wore in Montana when it was 100 degrees outside. I reached my locker and fumbled with the lock until the combination worked. I opened it and saw dirty tissues and crumpled up pieces of paper on the floor. Great, I thought, what a fantastic welcome.
“So, you’re Mariah, the new girl?”
I turned around and looked down to the girl who had just spoken and stared at her. She stared back, smiling, her pink halter-top showing off her perfectly tan skin.
“Hey, don’t be all freaked out cause I know your name. This school only has like 600 kids. You are, like, the biggest news since Jennifer Wines committed suicide.”
“Uh-huh.” I didn’t feel like talking to her.
“My name is Carly, by the way.” She paused, waiting for me to reply and when I didn’t, she continued, “So, I like your style. I mean, it is a little different, but different is cool, right? But, girl, I could never wear long sleeves in this kind of weather.”
I gave her one last look and turned back to my locker.
“Man, you’re tall.”
I leaned down to pick up the trash.
“Do you ever say anything?”
I slammed my locker saying, “no” as I walked down the hall, looking for my first class.
High school. I hated high school. I blamed my old high school for Brittney’s stupidity. If she hadn’t have gone there, she wouldn’t have been introduced to drugs and she wouldn’t have started smoking and staying out late every night, getting drunk. Because of high school, she made all the wrong decisions and because of those decisions, she died.
I walked into room 332, the chemistry class, and introduced myself to the teacher. She assigned a desk for me and I gratefully sat down, closing my eyes, trying to block out the noise of all the teen-ager girls yapping about ridiculous things like what they were planning to wear to the next dance and who asked them out yesterday
“You’re in my seat.” The deep voice startled my and my eyes jerked open. I looked up to see a tall senior guy towering above me, his skin looking naturally dark, which made him look even more frightening than he already was.
“Get over it,” I replied, annoyed that the teacher had assigned me a seat some kid already had. The teacher was starting to get everyone to quiet down.
“I said you are in my seat,” he said again, his voice rising with anger. He was glaring at me now.
“And I said, get over it.” I glared back at him. He looked around the room and saw that some kids were beginning to look over at us and he gave me one last look, his black eyes piercing mine. He slammed his books onto the desk behind me and sat down, muttering something under his breath that I couldn’t catch. I hoped that I hadn’t just made an enemy.
The day passed extremely slowly and I soon grew bored of the teacher’s steady, quiet voices and the looks I was getting from my classmates. I found myself way ahead of most of the subjects so I didn’t see any reason to listen to the lectures. I dozed off near the last ten minutes of Algebra 2, the last class of the day, and was awaken by Mr. Harrington, the overweight, white haired teacher, screaming at some kid sitting across from me whose cell phone had beeped.
“I swear it wasn’t mine!” The guy’s voice sounded pleading, as if this were a life-death situation. Mr. Harrington’s eyebrows shot up with a mock look of surprise and he crossed his arms, obviously annoyed.
“Never once in my thirty years of teaching experience, have I been wrong about matters such as this,” he said angrily. “Please just give me the phone. You may have it back when your parents find the time in their busy lives to come down to my room and reclaim it for you.” There was a slight smile on his lips as he reached out his hand, ready to grab the phone as soon as he spotted it. I watched him as he was purposefully humiliating this high school boy in front of the class. The boy looked innocent and scared. A sudden impulse made me act before thinking and before I realized what I was doing, I took my cell phone from my pocket.
“Mr. Harrington,” he turned back and stared at me so suspiciously that I wondered if I had gotten his name wrong. “It is Mr. Harrington, right?” I used my professional tone – the tone I saved for moments like this. It always seemed to annoy the teachers, even though all I was doing was being extremely polite. “Mr. Harrington, I just want you to know that my cell phone went off, not that guy’s. I was hoping you wouldn’t realize that it was mine, but I couldn’t stand seeing someone else blamed for my silly mistake, so I am turning myself in.” I handed him my phone and watched his expression change from vexation to anger. I had done my job well and now this teacher would hate me for the rest of the year, if I stayed here that long.
The bell rang and I was out the door before most of the kids had even stood up. I wanted to get out of the big, echoing building as quickly as possible. I ran down the stairs that lead to Junior Hall and reached my locker, testing my memory as I worked out the combination: 16-27-11. The lock snapped and I smiled, glad that I had it down. I packed all my newly attained books into my bag and slung it around my shoulder as I started to walk down the hall towards the West Doors. I heard someone shout my name and stopped, slowly turning around, not knowing what to expect.
“Mariah!” It was the Principal and I watched him with amusement as his large body wiggled towards me, pushing the curious students out of its way. “Mariah, I hope you weren’t planning to leave. I have wanted to speak with you all day to find out how you liked your first day here at Jackson High.”
I sighed, annoyed that this man was giving me so much personal attention. “My day went fine, Mr. Thelen. This place seems pretty sweet.” His fat red face broke into a huge smile and he wiped the sweat from his brow.
“I am glad you like it, Mariah,” he said, happily. I stared at him, not speaking, trying to make the moment as awkward for him as possible. It was a mean habit, to make others feel out of place and awkward, but it was much to fun to give up. “I hope…” he glanced around hesitantly and finished his statement in a rushed, nervous manner. “I hope that you will tell your dad that you like it here. I would hate for him to not be satisfied with the school his daughter is attending.”
I rolled my eyes. “Sure. Whatever.”
“Well, I am sure that I’m keeping you, so I hope you will have a nice day.” His artificial smile shone from his face like a plastic beach ball and I turned and left.
Outside, the air was sickly hot and I shut my eyes, fighting the impulse to take off my shirt and wear my cami instead. But the slight pain in my shoulder was enough for me to rather be drowned in my own sweat. I spotted my truck and jogged over to it, feeling my pocket for the keys as I ran. I would have loved my truck, if I had my dad hadn’t given it to me. It was a huge black Ford that was so new that you could smell the Ford Dealership still. With my dad, I had recently learned to realize that being spoiled was an understatement. He was so rich, anything you wanted he would give you, which was the opposite of my mom. She worked so hard to provide a roof over my sister and my head’s and food in the cupboards. I had tried to help her as much as I could, but in the end, it didn’t matter what I did. She died and I was sent to live with my dad. My dad, who never even gave a thought about my mom or my lives after the divorce, acted so happy to see me when I arrived several days earlier. It made me sick just to think about it.
I started my car, trying not to let my mind wander to my past. It was an unpleasant subject to dwell on and I usually ended up losing control of myself when I remembered. I turned my air conditioning up to full blast as I drove out of the school parking lot, heading down Market Street. Meadow wasn’t a large town, Jackson High being the only High school there was. The simple way the streets were designed made it easy to navigate, so I found my new neighborhood without any problems. My streets name was Hunting Valley, which stroke me as oddly romantic and was probably the only thing I would ever like about that neighborhood. My dad’s house was at the end of the block and was huge and majestic, like the rest of the houses. He definitely lived in the “rich part of town” which made me angry that I had to live there as well. I had grown up with hardly anything at all and if felt so awkward to all the sudden be considered “the rich kid”.
My dad had told me that morning that he was going off on some top-secret business trip and wouldn’t be back for several days. He told me not to ruin the house while he was gone and to try not to get to drunk, after telling me where he kept the alcohol. That was my dad for you – basically head of the whole FBI and he encouraged underage drinking.
I unlocked the front door and entered my new home and once again was amazed by how grand the house was. The amazing spiral staircase stood before me, shocking and huge as always. Around me, the front hall, the living room, the doors to the dining room, seemed too grand for the likes of me. And they seemed to know it.
I walked up the back stairs to my room (my dad had told me the spiral staircase was really only for show and he didn’t want it to get to worn down) and plopped down on my bed. I liked my room. It was huge, with freshly painted black walls and a new wooden floor. I had an electric guitar, drums and a keyboard on one side of my room and a walk-in closet on the other. A flat-screen T.V. sat across from my bed with a cupboard full of every DVD you could think of sitting next to it. I bet any girl at my school would give anything to have my room – my house – my dad, Mariah though, bitterly. And I bet their lives are at least 400 times better than mine.
I was startled out of my thoughts by the phone, which rudely rang by the side of my bed. “Hello?” I wondered who I knew who had my bedroom number.
“Mariah? It’s Dad. Are you doing okay? How was school? Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine, dad. Thanks, though, for asking.” Why did he call? Like he cared anything at all about me! He just made my day suck even more than it already did. I wished he would hang up and just let me be home alone.
“Okay, there are tons of T.V. dinners in the freezer, okay summer?”
Summer. Mom used to call me that when I was really little. All the girls at my school would laugh at my last name and I told mom I didn’t want to be Mariah Winter anymore – I told her I wanted a new last name. She smiled and told me that from now on, I could be Mariah Summer and then she always called me Summer after that.
“Mariah, you there?” My dad sounded a little impatient.
“Huh?”
“This project is going to take longer than I thought it would, okay? I probably won’t be back for at least a week. I’m sorry – it must be pretty awful for your dad to just run off right after you move in, huh?”
“No, dad, don’t stress. I’ll be totally fine.”
“Good. You have no idea how nice it is to know that a mature girl is taking care of my house while I’m gone.”
“U-huh.”
“Well, I kind of have to go now, okay Mariah? I love you! Bye.”
I love you? Oh please, don’t give me that crap. Anger soared through me and I threw the phone on the ground. Well, dad, I don’t love you. If you hadn’t left us, mom would’ve had enough strength to live after the accident. You would’ve been able to support us. Even with you guys divorced, you still could have given us money. And a lot of it, cause you are so dang rich. No, I don’t love you. I hate you!
I walked over to my stereo and turned on the radio, putting the volume as loud as it would go. The rhythm of the song blasted through me, touching my soul, my hate towards my dad doubling. “It is your fault!” I screamed, “Yours! It is yours!” And I fell to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably, letting all the tears that had been building up inside me for the past month come out at last.

Just for y'all to know, there are several mistakes in here that i totally forgot about before i posted. *sobs* so, i apologize and next time i will first edit it. lol.

...that um...well was...potent... I myself am a child of devorced parents, and have dealt with their court case for 6 and a half years now... so this, which as suggested in the title was found quite randomly by myself. her feelings are expressed vividly, and give insight on the mind of people such as myself, and how a devorce affects the outcome and change of ones existance. i find much truth in your words and how you made the character express them. it is ironic that your character is a tomboy because that personlity compliments her feelings, her mood and the story's, as well as shows the signigicance of her life's reality and experiences versus the other girls. a little bit of every writer come ou in teir work, a small amount f what they have experienced personally or what they have been denied, physically and mentally. the one reason i say this is tat from the truth of the emotions and stress of your main character, i hope that fr your sake and happiness that not too much if any of yourself has been represented through your words.

keep on writing with your head up and eyes unclouded, you as well as many others will benifit from the truthfulness of your character, be her feeling self contained as a figment of the author, or a drop of what is you.

Mm... not a bad job on this, though your editing was pretty shoddy. Look it over as soon as you get a chance. No one really wants to read a badly edited story, no matter how good it is.

Now then... I understand what was going on, and I like the general premise of your story.

But one thing: who is Britteny? I don't think you mention a sister, and if Britteny was Mariah's mom, wouldn't she call her Mom? And if she is her mom, then what does high school have to do with anything? You made it sound like Britteny was really young when she died, got into trouble in her high school years, died in her high school years.
Doesn't really make very much sense. Please work on that.

Also, why is Mariah such a jerk to the school people? Is she that upset with her life? Is she just a nasty person at heart, or just dislikes the idea of high school so much that she's just plain nasty to everyone there?


I have to go, maybe I'll add more later.

Muffin

Just some notes:

You might want to title your thread with the title of your story, or perhaps a brief blurb about it, rather than "Randomness" with all those letters at the end. That will really turn people off of reading. Put a space between your paragraphs (you can do this by hitting the return/enter key after the paragraph until there is a single space) to help readability. Otherwise, it's really hard to read and hurts peoples eyes.