One
“I’ve said those words before, but it was a lie, and you deserve to hear them, a thousand times.”
- Why Don’t We
“I don’t want to sing a solo,” I complain to my choir teacher, Mrs.Kell.
“Well, without you as the lead, I’m afraid our musical might go down in flames,” she says.
“What’s wrong with Amber?” I ask.
“You’re obviously the better singer.”
“But she’s taken singing classes before, and choir is the only thing I’ve ever joined that had anything to do with my vocals.”
“And yet, somehow, you have the better set of vocals.”
“I don’t want to do it.”
“At least sleep on it,” she pleads. I think for a moment. Would I even make a good lead? The musical isn’t even until the end of the year? I nod slightly and take the pink paper extended towards me along my late pass.
Mrs.Kell wanted to see me after class, then she started talking about our yearly musical; this year it’s Peter Pan. Is there even a musical version of the boy in green tights that everyone loves as a musical? I’ve never heard of it like that. I’m used to the plays and movies.
I walk into math class late. Oh well. I’m not actually going to sleep on it. I already know I won’t do it. I hate my singing. I sit in my desk in the front. A few girls whisper some stuff about my appearance. I already know I’m gothic. I mean, I do always wear a black sweater. Then there’s my signature light black eyeshadow, and the mascara. I even have naturally black hair that goes to my lower back to top it off.
I bike home, mostly because my car’s breaks are broken. The house to the left of mine already has a car in it. The person who lives there has a some that’s on the football team, so it’s no surprise. But I am surprised to see a moving truck in front of my other neighbor’s house. There was nobody living there, but I guess someone’s moving in.
After parking my bike by the tree in front of my window, I go inside and kick my shoes off by the door. I guess you could say my house is kind of small. It only has one floor and three bedrooms, but that’s all you need when only two people live in it. I live with my mom, who’s probably talking to the neighbors now. She’s a single mom, raising me on her own since I was two and she was nineteen, so I’ve never met my father.
“Honey! I have news!” my mom shouts.
“In the kitchen.”
“Oh my lord!” she exclaims as she enters the room. Her blonde hair is in a neat bun, as usual. Her blue eyes have this weird look in them. Like the “I think I made a mistake” look.
“What’d you do?” I ask.
“I invited the new neighbors over for dinner.”
“Okay.” I shrug.
“Go get dressed! I want you to look decent.”
“Ugh! Fine,” I groan, stomping off to my room.
I hate it when my mom says “decent”. She might as well say “fancy”. I look through my closet for something to wear. Funny funeral? Or shadow creature? Funny funeral. I grab out a black dress that goes to my knees, black tights that are slightly see through, and black flats. I quickly brush my hair, but keep it down as I usually do. I apply the eyeshadow and mascara. Viola. Just as I finish there’s a knock on the door.
I walk out of my room and see four strangers in the living room, one of which talking to my mom. She’s pretty. My mom and her are both wearing emerald-green dresses, but her hair is light brown and her eyes are green, nothing like my mom’s blonde hair and blue eyes. There’s also this man talking to what appears to be his sons. One looks around five or six with black hair and green eyes. He’s adorable. The other looks around my age with blonde hair and green eyes. He’s kind of cute.
I accidentally make eye contact with the younger boy and he makes a confused face.
“Are you a demon?” he asks.
My eyes widen. “No. I’m just a human.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“I’m so sorry for that,” the woman stranger says. “I have read him some weird bedtime stories and now all he wants to do is meet a demon. Anyway, I’m Megan Ryan, But you can call me Meg. And this is my husband, Devon,” she says, gesturing to the older man who was talking to the little kid.
“Hi,” I wave shyly. I’ve never been one for introductions.
“Then this is my son Jack.” She points to the smaller one. “And this is my son, Eli. He’s going to be in the same grade as you.” She gestures to the boy my age. Okay. I’m going to forget their names.
“Nice to meet you all.” I turn to my mom. “Mom. If it’s alright with you, because you aren’t done with supper, I’d like to go to my room now.”
I walk to my room and close the door gently. I sigh and flop onto my bed. This sucks. I’m pretty sure my dress it too tight on me, and my shoe are digging into my ankles. After about twenty minutes, someone knocks on my door.
“Come in!” I shout, although the walls are thin.
The door opens and Eric - I mean Eli, walks in, looking slightly bored. He smirks slightly as he looks around.
“Gothic much?” he asks.
“Yep,” I shrug.
My room isn’t that gothic. Nevermind. That’s a lie. My walls are a dark grey. My furniture is all black. Not to mention all of the skulls just lying around randomly. I even have a poster that says “It’s better to be hated for who are rather than loved for who I’m not”.
“Okay. Well, supper is done,” Eli states, leaving the room.
