Forever and a Moment

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Summary

Lila Michaela is an ordinary 12-year old girl, or so she thought. Surviving high school is hard enough with an old rival bullying you, but finding a portal in the school basement? Not your everyday find, is it? Join Lila in an breathtaking and thrill-seeking adventure to beyond this world entirely. Adventure, fantasy, romance, we've got it all!

Genre:
Adventure / Fantasy
Author:
Eleanor G
Status:
Ongoing
Chapters:
6
Rating:
4.7 19 reviews
Age Rating:
13+

Ordinary Life

Is this normal? I wake up in the morning, a mess of blonde frizzy hair and a swarm of arms and legs flailed over the bed. It was another morning preparing me for another cataclysmically boring day of high school. I lay there, sucking up every moment of sleep before my alarm went off: unfortunately, that wasn't for long.
Beep!
Beep!
Beep!
I felt the soft continuous vibration go through my body across the sheets, and I reluctantly elevated off of my bed and plodded over to my wardrobe.

My life had changed quite a lot recently. I had a new school, new friends, new teachers. The worst part of it all was the new uniform. My parents made me attend a posh, goody-two-shoe ridden school called ' Sylvia District High School for Girls'. Here they made I wear revolting tulip pink flowing skirts and flamingo coloured tights. The footwear hideous lilac tap shoes that clip–clopped everywhere, and there was a tie diagonally striped with with pink and yellow. It look like a lollipop you attach to your neck. The blazer was a baby pink with too many pockets, and the best part was probably the shirt. It was just plain antique white, thank goodness for that.

Like most mornings, I wasn't hungry and left for school early to meet with my best friends Miley and Phoebe.
"Hi Lila! You okay this morning?" asked Miley when I reached her.
Right. Time to go back to the beginning. I am no Ordinary 12-year old girl named Lila Michaela. My hobby is sketching; I like to imagine that I'm in another world, other than the boring one I see for myself in the present. I live with my average parents in the street next to the school. I moved house a few months ago – just before I started High School. They got me a place in the crazy school that I go to now now and I started a month ago. Anyway, back to the story.

"Yeah I'm great!" I said enthusiastically, "Where's Phoebe?"
"Oh she's coming. She texted me like an hour ago and I'm still waiting!" Miley huffed. I smiled. Classic Phoebe. Some things never change, I thought. Without warning, in a whirlwind of textbooks, unfinished homework and pencils stormed in Phoebe, her messy little pony tail bobbing up and down as she hurled herself to the school gates. She tumbled to the ground and littered herself with with a flurry of dust and dirt.
"I'm here!" Phoebe gasped, " You wanna, umm, give me a hand?" I held out my hand and she pulled it eagerly, almost pulling me over with her.
"Look at your uniform! It's ruined!" stated Miley.
"Actually," I studied her for a moment, "I think you did it a favour!"
Phoebe grinned, "So true!"
We all looked at each other, then down at our clothes. It was hideous. If we had a say, I would sack the designer and whoever hired them too. But of course, 'adults know best' was the very first rule in the rule book. This school had a tendency to make even the worst primary rebels into mindless little zombies that crave to slap all the teachers in the face ten times through. Phoebe was pretty enough behind her mask of mud and dirt, having blonde a hair than any, which was practically white. Miley on the other hand, always wears a frizzy little ginger ponytail and diamond encrusted glasses which she got cheap from a charity shop. She also wears two purple, plaited braids in her hair and seems to always have a book in hand.

The school bell rang and out came the janitor. He unlocked the study, pink gates and the entire school flooded into the building. Me and my friends clung desperately to each other's hands in hope that they would stay together. I clutched my timetable in my spare hand and read my first lesson. Let me show you the timetable for a typical week this putridly posh academy:

Monday
Gymnastics 8.00 am to 10.00 am

Double English
10.10 am to 11.00 am

Music
11.05 am to 12.05 pm

Pottery Class
1.25 pm to 3.30 pm

Tuesday

Mathematics (they say ‘maths’ is too unladylike) 8.00 am to 10.00 am

Art with cheap oily pastels
10.10 am to 11.00 am

History (of middle age history) 11.05 am to 12.05 pm

Ancient poetry Reading
1.25 pm to 3.30 pm

Wednesday

Ballet Dancing
8.00 am to 10.00 am.

ICT
10.10 to 11.00
(P.S My feet are killing me hence the Ballet)

FREE PERIOD
(Time to find Phoebe and Miley)

Chemistry
1.25 pm to 3.30 pm
(What is a periodic table?)

Thursday
Swimming Lesson 8.00 am to 10.00 am

Science
10.10 am to 11.00 am

Mathematics (Again, no ‘maths’)

Painting
1.25 pm to 3.30 pm

Friday

Choir
8.00 am to 10.00 am

Continuous Writing
10.10 am to 11.00 am

Cooking
11.05 am to 12.05 pm (What kind of flour?)

HALF DAY


Of course, it wasn’t the teachers who wrote those helpful tips on there. Those teachers couldn’t help anyone even if they tried.

Today is Monday. That meant Gymnastics. Uh oh. I once saw myself fair at gymnastics, but as soon as I had arrived at high school I saw how superior everyone else was. I could once do a backflip on the trampoline, when we had a trampoline, but that was when I was four years old.

Whilst looking at the little paper slip, I must have let go of Phoebe and Miley’s hands, as I was now being trampled over and pressed against the wall! I looked at it in disgust. It was pink. A deep, revolting taffy pink. I tried to stand, but I was yet again flattened by a highway of pink skirts and tights, and occasionally blouses from the shorter, younger girls with flustered cheeks and spotty little chins and foreheads. I could see them struggling to survive in the stampede too, and remembered just why I hated this school.

Once the main flurry of students had pushed, yanked, (occasionally pulled hair) and struggled to force their way through the hall and up the stairs, I found my feet again amongst many of the other younger ones shoved against the flamingo-coloured walls. I had been lucky enough to not have been flattened by some of the other students that were part of the big slam and had been pushed into each other, so I was free to leave.

I heaved my bag over my shoulder and picked up the river of pens that had fallen down the stairs, regained my balance on the uncarpeted stone floor, and walked off to the gym hall. The door to the gym was attached to a narrow, stretching corridor, which for once, wasn’t pink. It was a soft baby blue, and against the walls were lined several out-of-order, broken vending machines. It was the first place in the school that I felt a little more me. Even though I was dressed as a living stick of candyfloss. Among me were a few girls scurrying away who were late for their lessons, but other than that it was a desolate pathway. I peeked into several doors along the way; I have no idea where I am going. Soon enough, I found a heavy oak door, and pushed it just a crack to see what was commencing inside. A girl did a backflip.

Yep, this was the one. I was pretty sure.

In truth, I was terrified of my class.

I saw many of the ‘perfect students’ with perfect blonde buns tied with pink ribbons above their heads, all in matching pink leotards embroidered with silver copies of the school symbol. I strolled in, seeing a skinny girl with that perfect blonde hair - which you see supermodels dye for effect - do a triple flip in the air off of a springboard and landing in a perfect split on the floor. It was crazy! I looked around in awe to see some of the other mad-cap acts the students were performing, but none of them were as good as the girl with the inhumanly skinny waist. She stood up and I walked over to her. This was Angelica K. Model. You don’t need an explanation. It’s already in the name. Angelica was tall and had fair blonde hair that reached to her hips and seemed to glisten even when there wasn’t any light. She wore an intoxicating amount of lavender perfume (which wasn’t actually permitted, but since it was Angelica, the teachers allowed it) which you would get a deep whiff of in a town ten miles from her. She had perfect peach skin and wore a collection of badges that gleamed over her leotard. They read:

No.1 Pupil

Class President

Head of First Year

Vice President of the School

President of the School

I could only count five right now, but there were probably dozens that she kept in a big glitter box at home, or strung across a big glittery wall. Usually, I would despise her for being so over-the-top in making other pupils - who had probably never received even the one badge, such as myself - feel ashamed and bad on themselves.

“That stunt you did - it was amazing!” I ventured.

The girl smirked, untying her hair and letting it flow down to her waist. “I know.” she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “You don’t stand a chance in making the school team.” She strolled off triumphantly, flicking her long hair behind her. It was as if she had deliberately undone her bun that had been so expertly done up just to make a fool of me. Of course, she lived to do that.

“OK bye then.” I called to her in the most un-humiliated tone I could muster. Oh, did I mention? She’s the most popular girl in the school. And the most confident.

Someone in the corner caught my eye. She was waving at me, and I turned to see Miley smiling at me in delight, with a timid Phoebe cowering behind her. I ran over, glad to see them.

“Hi Miley. What’s up with Pheebs?” I frowned.

Miley turned to look at Phoebe’s face, then turned back to me, “Well, you see Lila, she’s sorta self conscious about landing on her head. I never knew! I really hope I get in the team this year! This week is practise and the real thing is in a couple of weeks.”

“I’m sure you will. I’m keen on joining too! See Angelica over there? She’s so full of herself! I really want to prove her wrong.” I stated passionately.

“Anyway, want to see me practise?” Miley grinned.

“Show me when it’s your turn! I’m sure it’s incredible.” I smiled. Miley looked disappointed, but not broken.

I felt a little bad for turning Miley down, but my thoughts were elsewhere. I walked over to a stray mat away from all the others, and worked on thinking up an incredible move that would crush that bully forever. What about...a full spin in the air? No. Back flips all the way along the mat? No. What about that crazy trick the other girl did but twice, a back handspring, then a backflip at the end? That’s the one!

The move I had planned was pretty far-fetched, and it was sketchy - but it was worth it! It was a little rough at first. In fact, my first attempt I landed on my head, and for once, I understood Phoebe’s fear. I got up and slapped myself on the arm in shame. In my mind, all I could see was the prissy girl’s cruel smirk. I sprinted and landed both feet on the springboard, lurching sidewards all the while. I did the triple spin and did it again from stand, then a back handspring. I was tired to the bone, dripping with buckets of sweat and hardly standing. I knelt down on my knees, allowing myself to picture the errors that I made. Then I pictured the blondy, and her influence over my performance. I tried again, and pushed harder this time, managing the backflip, but landing on tired, shaky knees.

I walked back over to Miley; Phoebe trying to land a poor cartwheel.

“So, how’s it going?” Miley asked.

“Slowly. But I’ve come up with something good.” I responded.

Phoebe came over with a face of glee, “How are you liking my cartwheels?” she smiled, without irony.

“They’re amazing.” Miley and I said in unison, almost without irony.

Phoebe snorted with laughter, “I know. They’re not that good! Wait until you see Miley’s routine! It’s genius!” Everyone grinned then.

“You’re definitely going to make the team this year. I’m positive.” I winked as encouragingly as possible. Miley winked back and smiled the amazing smile I saw very often, “I hope so.”

The coach rang a loud, confident whistle off a black string tied around his neck, and beckoned to all of the pupils from the front to the back of the great hall. Everyone stepped forward and gathered around a large mat situated in the centre of everyone. The coach stepped forward and started calling out names for students to present their practises.

“Phoebe Hunters. You’re up!” He bellowed in a big, deep voice. Phoebe stepped forward, embarrassed, and stepped onto the (PINK) velvet mat. She trotted forward and performed her little cartwheel, before running off laughing into the arms of Miley, who kindly put her arm over Phoebe’s shoulder.

“You did great.” she mouthed.

A few other acts went by as the minutes passed. None of them seemed to wow me, and I felt bad for some of the younger kids who knew nothing about the exercise, who had been shy to begin with.

“OK, now,” said the coach, “Angelica. K. Model.” My face hardened. As always, Angelica was smirking, leading her perfect body over to the colossal mat amid the crowd of eye-wide students. Muttering broke out in the great hall and things like, ‘What will she pull off this time?’ and ‘Will it be better than last week?’ could be heard amongst the circle of pupils, all giddy because she made them nervous. Putting on a star performance would just give her another thing to brag and boast about, terrorizing the other girls in year seven. I stood stiff, breathless. Soon enough, the voices simmered down, and everyone stood, and stared.


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