Romance Fan Fiction ❯ Tutoring Love ❯ Cinderella ( Chapter 1 )

~Lizzy~

 

Ugh! What time was it?

 

I peeked through my eyelids.

 

6:30 AM.

 

It's so early. Is today Saturday? …No…Friday…that means school…

 

I tried opening one eye, then the other. They remained firmly closed.

 

Well, a couple minutes wouldn't hurt. Studying for that history test really stressed me out. When did I go to sleep yesterday? 2 o'clock? Or was it 3?

 

Time confounds me.

 

I relaxed, knowing that a few minutes would do me good.

 

Yes, just relax for the moment…you'll wake up soon enough…

 

 

 

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

 

 

 

“CRAP!”

 

How on earth did I sleep for 2 more hours?

 

The clock read 8:30. School was about to start in 15 minutes, and here I am, still in my junky sweatpants and a ragged up t-shirt that I use for pajamas. A red blouse was sprawled on the hard mahogany floor. I pulled that on quickly, along with a random pair of shorts from under my bed. My backpack was beside it, so I towed it downstairs while stuffing my socks on at the same time. I checked the clock. 10 minutes.

 

I sighed. Great, now I have to take my car. At least it has tinted windows.

 

My quick meal was simple, a pop-tart. Taking a random one, I stuffed it in my pockets, and grabbed the keys to the car that I avoided at all costs. It was so…not me. My mom bought the slim red car for me, for agreeing to let new people into my life.

 

As if I had a choice.

 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

 

After the divorce with dad, mom found a rich husband (don't get the wrong idea, they love each other passionately). Brad was the owner of the biggest house in the whole town, something I was not so proud of. Why waste the space? It's not like one puny family can take up the hundreds of acres! Well, not that puny.

 

Two stepsisters, Brenda and Christina. Describe them in one word? Sluts. My clothes are perfectly normal, a little shabby, yes; but that's the way I like them. Their closets consist of what they would call `clothes', but I would have called those things underwear. Who makes skirts that are made with only 6 inches in height? They might as well just go outside with a sign that says “look at my ass”.

 

I seriously tried to make peace with them, but when I refused having clothes like theirs', they might as well have called me Cinderella. Brad was no different. I mean, mom was supposed to fall in love with a handsome, caring and considerate guy. Brad had 1 out of 3…at least in my eyes. Through mom's, he was perfect; no flaws, just a perfect little angel who just made her the happiest mom as can be. Through his view, I was nothing but a dirty rag, hurled into his filthy rich life.

 

Okay, so maybe it's a little melodramatic, but put the blame on the imagination. If I could stop it from running away in its own little world, I would.

 

+^+^+^+^+^+

 

I stumbled on the rug, as I dashed for the door. When I got in the car, I wasted two precious minutes by staring in disbelief that I, Elizabeth Laming, was going to be driving this overpriced car.

 

The engine hummed when I turned the keys that were in the ignition. My peaceful Mozart music calmed my nerves down, until I realized I only had about 5 minutes left. The rubber burned and squealed as I drove away in frenzy. This was my first time being anywhere within 5 meters of the car, so my doubts hung on about the speed, until I realized that the trees were a blur, and I was thankful that this tiny town didn't have much traffic, or else I would have left 3 road blocks within my first minute of stepping into the mint conditioned car.

 

My turns were sharp, as were my stops. When I saw the huge building of the high school getting closer, I stomped on the gas pedal, and lurched forward, almost banging my head on the steering wheel in the process of doing so. Wow. The dizzying drive only took up 2 minutes. That had to be a record.

 

For safety measures, I parked a good 2 blocks away, knowing that a 1 minute jog wouldn't hurt my perfect attendance. I noticed a sleek silver motorcycle in front of my car. For a second, my memory got fogged up, but I refused to give up that lingering thought, the thought that I had seen this motorcycle before. I gasped. My air cut off. The sun shone through the fog, and my clear memory hit me so hard, my knees trembled.

© Helen Ding 2007