A/N- Okay, hello people. I'm Jenn, and my best friend Cara and I have decided to finally co-author our story that we've been planning since last July. So, we finally wrote our first chapter tonight at Starbucks, lol. It's coming along quite nicely, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it.

Home .. My Hellhole Chapter One

Home, home is where the heart is. Well, no. Home is where my mother, a raging alcoholic who is close to falling over the edge to insanity, resides. Home is where my father, a wanna-be bad boy who runs away and comes home every so often to bathe and collect my mother's remaining money, drops in. Home is where my brother and sister, who just so happen to be twins, eat, sleep, and if you are my brother, shower ever so often. You see, when God made those two, he made them very special. If you would like to know what I think, God did not supply each with a fully functional brain, but he simply took one, divided it into two, and distributed. Sometimes I wonder, am I really as unique as I claim to be? Am I really a lovely little flower that has the ability to .. sprout .. as some may say, high above the weeds? Or am I just another clown in the circus and it hasn't quite struck me yet? Oh well. This is my home. This is my hellhole. And this is where I live. Every single agonizing day of my adolescent life.

Continuing on. Today after school, my teacher asks me what time would be a good time to call my mom. Apparently, she is concerned with my behavior. I tell her my mom doesn't work and she makes a face. You know, the kind of face where you force someone to eat your chocolate chip cookies that you know taste like toxic waste, due to lack of certain ingredients, and in their attempt to remain civil and polite, the smile and tell you that they are 'absolutely scrumptious.'

She then asks me what I think would be a good time to call. I squint my eyes like I am in deep thought, even though I already know my response. I tell her my mother is usually sober between the hours of two and seven. Two because that's the time her hangover is starting to recede, and seven because that's normally about the time that she puts on her red biker shorts and her 'Virginia is for Lover's' t-shirt to go out and do it all over again. Once again, the woman smiles, only this time it was like that one time Cynthia Wright waltzed into the classroom and proudly announced that she was pregnant. I figured that was enough for today, and dismissed myself from the classroom.

So now, my mom is calling me down to the kitchen because she thinks it is time for her and I to have a little chat. LAST TIME I head the term 'little chat' used in this house, it was a conversation involving both of my parents and my mom tried to persuade my dad that it would be a good idea to take a small loan out of my college savings fund so that she could start her own liquor store. Needless to say, I myself am not a big fan of little chats.

"Veta," my mom begins, "your teacher called today" "She has a phone?" I say as though I am in a shocked stupor. "Yes, she has a phone," says my mother, who is obviously not in the mood for my constant sarcasm. "She said that she was a bit concerned with your attitude and the way you isoslate yourself from your peers." I stop to think for a second before asking, "Isoslate?" "Yes, she said you isosolate yourself." "I believe the term that you are looking for, Lavern, is 'isolate." "Oh hell, I don't remember, Veta. I was in the middle of doing a million and one things when she called, and don't call me Lavern!" I look around my messy kitchen and wonder what million and one things my mom could be referring to. I started calling her Lavern on my thirteenth birthday when she attempted to throw me a party, but she spelled my name wrong on the cake and gave me a card congratulating me on my eleventh birthday.

"Veta, just do what you're supposed to do. I don't have time to be accepting calls from teachers." This seemed to end our conversation because she grabs her car keys and the last of the welfare check and makes her way to our broken down '89 station wagon, and I'm once again left home alone.

End of Chapter One

A/N- did you like? It seems a lot shorter when typed, actually. Handwritten, it took up three and a half pages, college ruled paper. Eh, it's not quantity, but its quality ;)

So, please review and tell the both of us what you thought! You can e-mail us at the following address:

Or you can check out our personal online journals..

Cara- y Jenn- /users/oblivion16

Or you can IM us personally at our AIM screennames:

Cara- MC cizel Jenn- oodance16oo

Once again, we hope that you enjoyed the story and please comment and tell us what you thought.. suggestions, praise, advice, whatever you have to offer is very much welcomed except flames.. which will be deleted anyway.

We can't wait to post chapter two, which should be appearing soon!

Thanks lots, Jenn and Cara