Note:: Leave title suggestions down below because I feel like “Falling” doesn’t quite match this story.
One
Jade Morgan Greene
“JADE! COME GET breakfast!” Dad calls up the stairs. The stairs lead straight to a plain door, and beyond that door is my much-too-big room. I am on the third and last floor of our massive house. We have so much money, I couldn’t spend it in a lifetime. My best friend, Brittany, on the other hand…
I smile to myself at the thought of my best – and only – friend. I’m very quiet, and I don’t let a lot of people in. But the moment Brittany Moraliez walked through the cafeteria door, I knew I liked her. She was smiling and looking around eagerly. And I don’t usually bother speaking to people like that.
“I’m not hungry!” I call back, slipping a hair tie around my wrist for gym, which is third period, just before lunch. The periods before that are History and English. English is my favorite class. I pick up the book that we were supposed to read over the course of a week. I won’t tell anyone, but I read it the first night. As far as my teacher knows, I finished it in History because I was busy partying the entire week. That’s what she thinks.
“Jade Morgan Green! Get down here and eat your pancakes right now!” Dad yells angrily. He knows I’ve never been able to eat much, which is why he practically force-feeds me each night at dinner.
“Fine,” I lie, grabbing my backpack and stuffing the book in. I hurry down the steps, though I’m in no rush. I’m always late each day, and I’d like to keep it that way.
I sit in front of my plate of pancakes, stacked high by my Dad in hopes that I’ll eat it all. I cut into one and force myself to take a bite.
Dad grins, satisfied, and turns away to pour his coffee. I then proceed to rub the knife on my plate. The sound makes me cringe, but it will convince my dad that I’m eating. I then proceed to dump the pancakes in the trash.
“Bye, Dad, love ya!” I say cheerily, slinging my cross-body backpack over my head and under my shoulder. The bus is waiting at the entrance of the neighborhood, but I ignore it. I drive myself to school. I open the garage door by typing in the passcode on the keypad attached to it and get into my 2019 Mustang Bullitt. I got it on my sixteenth birthday, and have loved it since. I got it in a glossy black. It’s beautiful.
I stick my key in the slot and start the engine. My beauty roars to life, and I press on the gas. Dad calls me a “speed demon”. He swore to never ride with me again when I drove him to work once, when all three of his cars were in the shop.
Going to school, though, I try to go slow. I want to arrive seven minutes after first period starts, enough to annoy the teacher and get a tardy slip, but not enough to seem like I’m skipping. I only skip my afternoon classes, on occasion.
I arrive at my school at eight thirty-seven A.M. Perfectly on time. I smile to myself and look around the soulless parking lot. I cut the gas on my beauty, grab my backpack, and slip my keys in the pocket of my black jacket. It looks like leather, but it’s not. I’m not vegetarian or vegan or anything, but I refuse to wear anything that’s made from an animal.
I slide out of my car, slam the door so the students mingling at the entrance hear me, and lock it behind me. My black hair falls in front of my face, and I glare at the group of “thug students” as I pass. They throw me dirty looks, and I smirk. A few laugh. In a way, I’m a part of their “group”, but I refuse to hang out with them.
Everyone stares at me as I enter the classroom, and I smirk at them. The teacher throws me a warning look, but I ignore it and take the yellow detention slip from her. I sit at my seat in the back row, where all the lazy people go to sleep. I get out the book for English and pretend to read it, though I’m actually listening. Everyone thinks I’m stupid as a three-year-old. They’re wrong. But they’ll never know that. Nobody ever sees my report card. Not even Dad.
I look up at the teacher as she calls my name.
“Yes, Miss Waters?” I ask innocently, tilting my head.
“Pay attention!” she snaps, emphasizing each syllable.
“Yes, ma’am. Of, course, ma’am,” I say sarcastically, snapping a salute. A few students laugh, and I smirk. Smirking is just my thing. I don’t smile. I don’t laugh. I don’t frown. I don’t grimace. I smirk.
History goes by in a blur. The bell rings, and I put the book up. I head to the bathroom for no apparent reason. In there, I find a girl sobbing in an open stall. Most likely the latest victim of the school’s player, Ace Brown. He’s hot, sexy, charming, and has a killer smile. But I don’t fall for boys like that. I don’t fall for boys. Period. If a boy even winks at me, he gets a split lip. I took a few martial arts classes when I was younger in hopes that I could fight against my abusive and neglective mom.
“He’s not worth it,” I say to her, and turn to the mirror. I study my appearance. I look like a skeleton, except I have a decent tan. But the haunting affect of my bony-ness just adds to my “rebel girl” reputation that I work so hard to keep up.
“B-b-but he-” the sobbing girl begins.
“Yeah, I know. He slept with you and then yelled at you to leave him alone. Happens to every girl,” I say, cutting her off. “Get over him and find someone actually worth your time.”
The girl sniffles and wipes her nose with a piece of toilet paper. “Thank you. What’s your name?”
“I don’t have a name,” I reply sarcastically and leave. But silently, I feel for the girl. I, too, fell for a guy like Ace Brown. A long time ago. But he’s in jail now, for the dealing of drugs.
The bathroom door thumps shut behind me, and I walk to English class.
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Sorry that it switches between tenses! I’ll edit it soon!
Lol! I promise I did not see this comment until after I wrote my comment.
Yo wassup again!
I have a few critiques on this piece. First off, I understand what you were trying to do as of tense, but at times I found it hard to follow. I didn’t quite like the transition from the first to the second paragraph. I know you were trying to do something different when you began to talk about the friend, but, I found it confusing and choppy.
I love the angle about the bad girl and how this was just meant to depict the difficulty of a hurt person’s life. I thought it was subtle and it didn’t rush itself, which is great.
For me personally, I would love to no more about the background of this girl. Why does she smirk? Why doesn’t she eat? Is she just trying to be the predictable bad girl, or does she think there is a benefit in acting this way? You touched on it a little bit when it came to the mother, but personally I would like to hear more.
More of her backstory will be revealed in further chapters! I think this is the most complex character I have ever made!
Thank you for letting me know of the confusion in the first few paragraphs, I’ll try to change it later!
Ah MikaylaMoss beat me to the punch.
I too like the angle you’re going for with this character. I like that she is unhurried and does things just to be noticed, that she’s shaping others’ perception with every move, and she’s hyperaware of what others think.
I would think that the teacher would know that Jade isn’t stupid. They have to input the grades, and if every test comes back an A (or maybe she fails on purpose? but that would have negative long-term effects on her going to higher education, and it doesn’t seem like she’d destroy a chance like that) it might be more frustration and maybe bewilderment from the teacher than annoyance and dislike.
The BULLITT is a hot car. Dang.
I did not think of that! Thank you for bringing this to my attention!
And yes, it is. I’ve always wanted a Mustang!
Pretty good.
Thank you.