Preface

Dear Diary,

Today I was walking to Starbucks for some coffee, to keep me awake for the day. I never seem to get any sleep anymore. The same could be said for Mark, we're nearly inseparable these days. Just watching out for each other. Watching children's movies all night long reminds me of when we were innocent without a care in the world. Spoiled rotten. I was doing fine, seriously, I didn't think of her at all that morning. Until an old classmate came up to me. Honestly, the only thing I remember of the incident was her words. "Amy I heard what happened I'm so sorry for your loss". And just like that all the work I put into stopping the pain was diminished. Every distraction I submerged myself in-even not sleeping at night, just so I couldn't dream about her.

Everything crashed down at once. There weren't even any tears, I was just broken. I didn't order the coffee, I just walked away and sat in a booth unresponsive. I'm sure people came to me asking what was wrong, but I didn't hear them. Someone who knew me must have called Mark because soon he was there right by my side. I couldn't hear the words he was saying. Only that he was tugging me towards his car and we were driving to his house. That's where Ethan and I stayed now. His mom took care of us now that our mom is gone. did everything for me, the funeral arrangements, the will hearing, the insurance. Everything I was left I would trade for her to be in my life again. Now I'm "rich," but not a penny could drown my tears. Immediately after the hearing, I made my own will, dividing my new assets evenly between Ethan, Sarah, and two others. I don't know their names, but I want my sisters if I ever meet them to be included in the will.

Ethan wasn't in the will originally because he wasn't born when mom made it, so only I was the sole inheritor. She placed me as Sarah's legal guardian when we were making arrangements to adopt her, that prevented Sarah from being placed back into foster care again. Although CPS and her caseworker made sure to vet me before placing her in my care. The adoption process started when Sarah was four, the same age Ethan is now and we get bring her home finally now that she's seven.

This year was supposed to be a happy occasion. I was done with high school, Sarah was officially coming home on my birthday, and then I was going to college. Now my mom's dead. She was the only casualty of that night. Which makes no sense, since she managed to save everyone but herself. The only positive of this is Sarah won't be placed back in foster care after the 6 years it took to finally adopt her because my mom made sure to put me as her legal guardian in case...anything happens.

Amy

Black hair tumbled down in waves past my shoulders, running toward the middle of my back, as I took out each cornrow. Each braid leaving behind zigzag curls, framing my heart-shaped face, complimenting my warm brown skin. Small diamond stud clip-ons lined the outer area of my ears. Grabbing my conditioner, I slowly detangled my hair and set it in a side fishtail braid.

/* Almost ready, just need to put on the dress Mother wants me to wear. Honestly, who's going to care if I wear a dress or not? It's not like anyone will be able to see it under my graduation gown. The dress is just a wasted purchase because I'm never wearing it after this. */

At this point, I don't even argue with her about dresses anymore as long as she follows my rules at least: no sequins, no glitter, no scratchy material, or anything that shows too much skin or is too girly-I hate that. To tie all of that together, it must be flexible. I can't be restrained when wearing it. I don't like being exposed and uncomfortable for anyone.

/* I know I'm difficult to shop for because that's basically all clothes that exist for women everywhere.*/

I slashed the majority of dresses from the store just by glancing at them when we went out to buy the dress she insisted I needed for graduation. She almost blew a gasket after all the dresses I rejected. It's not my fault I don't like dresses. It's not like I forced her to go shopping for something I don't even want.

/* Too late to be complaining about the dress now. It's just for one day and then it will be buried in the closet until it's too small and she will allow me to donate it. Besides, after this, I can go to the skatepark. I already packed my bag, so I could change after graduation. I wanted to invite Mark, we normally go roller skating together, but he's having a family dinner after graduation. Besides, I'll see him tomorrow during the graduation party my Mother is hosting for me. */

The dress my Mother and I eventually decided on was a 1950's style dark blue dress with an a-lined neck.

/* Mother wanted to get a matching set of heels for it, but I put my foot down on the matter. I can barely walk on land itself without tripping over air-and that's in sneakers. I like to refer to these moments as random gravity checks. Sometimes I have even said that the floor looked lonely. */

In hindsight, this is probably why she put me in all those ballet, MMA, and gymnastics classes.

/* I have so much poise and grace in those classes but have me walk anywhere at all, I'm a baby deer on ice. */

Needless to say, there was no way I was going to be able to walk more than 2 inches in the 6-inch pointed heels she was imagining me in without breaking a leg. Besides, I hate being uncomfortable, and I can barely last 20 minutes standing around in them.

I threatened to embarrass her by walking the stage barefoot if she didn't let me wear flats. She knows I'd do it too. I did it before when she wanted to impress a senator that was in town. Let's just say, it ended in an argument and her calling me an uncivilized cretin and taking away all my electronics: my phone, pc, tv-everything for a month. To add to that, the only thing she left me was a flip phone that I could only use in emergencies. Then she made me socialize with people for a week and took away all my books. That week will forever go down as the worst week of my life.

Putting on my flats, I debated on whether I should wear makeup. It always makes me feel weird to wear makeup, like the person in the mirror isn't me.

/*Just a weird Barbie doll version. Then again, my Mother would just yell at me if I even dared walk out the door without looking my best for graduation. I can just hear her now. " Amy, I don't know why you don't like making yourself look good. You are a beautiful girl; I don't know why you try and hide it. Is there something wrong? Are you depressed? I can have you checked out if there's something wrong with you." */

/* And that's only on the good days, on the bad ones, she will even start questioning my sexuality, as if sexuality has anything to do with not wanting to wear or do certain things. She's so frustrating sometimes. I wish she would just understand that it's my life and my body. If I choose to wear baggy clothes and no makeup, that's what's comfortable for me. I wish she would stop living out her life through me. */

It would be too much of a pain to hear her whole lecture again, especially when I just gave it to myself. Begrudgingly, I put on a little foundation and mascara-maybe I could get away with this?

/*Shaking my head, no it won't work, it's too unnoticeable, need to make it more obvious so she won't start harassing me as soon as I come downstairs.*/

Searching for lipstick, I scanned across my table. Nope, disorganized as usual, but it didn't look like it was there with all the natural hair products and combs. Standing up, I looked around my room, clothes were scattered onto the floor, but my T.V area that preoccupied half my room was spic and span. Then again... that was only because I liked to play World Dances over there. Nothing worse than being in the middle of a song and tripping over a t-shirt - learned that the hard way. After that I keep that area organized-it can't be on that side of the room, maybe I left it on my nightstand? I looked around the room to my unmade bed with piles of clothes scattered upon the floor. To the left side of my bed was my nightstand table that held my laptop, a small hand mirror, and what looked to be my LIPSTICK! I rushed over to put on my burnt umber lipstick. I looked in the mirrors that lined all the walls of my room, at my reflection.

/* On the outside, I look like a well-put-together girl on her way to graduate from hell (cough)Sparta High School. Inside, I was scared. High School is ... officially over no matter how messed up it was. Soon I'll be on my own, with people expecting me to be an adult at the same time still treating me as a child. */

/* This is what they call the final chapter, isn't it? The one where one chapter in your life closes and a new one begins. */

"AMMMMYYYY." Dang, it... spent too much time thinking again. Now I have to arrive for my graduation walk up and collect my diploma. At least my little brother Ethan will be sitting in the audience watching me, I'm going to miss the stuffing out of him when I have to go away.

So glad I'm not preparing a speech for graduation. I mean who wants to do that? I know I would just die from stage fright. I got good grades in my classes-too good. The end was near my guidance counselor kept telling me if I kept my grades up, I would easily be the Valedictorian or Salutatorian of my year, as if that was a good thing. Once I heard that I had to purposefully get some failing grades. By failing, I mean going from an A+ to a B+ for some tests. I literally started calculating the grade I wanted for my GPA. I wanted it to still be high because I wanted to get into MIT but not high enough I'm standing in front of a podium before my graduating class making speeches. It all worked out in the end; I ranked number 5 in my whole class and had no speeches to do.

"AMMMY! GET YOUR BUTT DOWN HERE OR WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE. IF WE ARE LATE ARRIVING TO YOUR GRADUATION, YOU CAN KISS GOING ROLLER SKATING GOODBYE!"

/* Okay, she's making threats now, better get downstairs quick. */

Dashing to the door, grabbing my cap and gown, and roller skating bag, I flew down the stairs to see a ... ticked off middle-aged Mother before me, dressed in an elegant blue gown probably something designed from Victoria Beckham. She always mentions how much she loves her dresses; most of the dresses she owns are designed by her. I watched as the sapphire blue seemed to glow as it brought out the cool tones of her dark skin, similar to my own. The only difference between us is that she looked like she actually belonged in the upper class, while I looked like I should be scrubbing the floors.

Towering before me, she stood on her favorite black Louis Vuitton heels. The kind of shoes she wishes I would wear and if I ever tried, I'd most likely be in the hospital. Those are the kinds of heels she wears constantly, and even though she complains about it every time in private, she never expresses her discomfort in public, bearing every discomfort with a smile. She's the complete opposite of me in every way imaginable. Even though she didn't use to be. It used to be just us and some of her friends who would teach me things from self-defense to ballet.

Upon her neck was a black onyx necklace with a sapphire pendant dangling in the center. Looking up into her eyes, I could see her eyebrows furrowing as she squinted her brown eyes at me. Visually picking at my appearance, I felt her gaze sweep up and down my body. As always, her hair was neatly pinned up into a braided bun that sat at the crown of her head. Never a strand out of place, as if coming undone or looking even a little bit messy would mean treason.

/*I always wondered how someone so seemingly perfect could ever have a child like me. Someone who trips on air while she glides from place to place. What is wrong with me? */

"Look at you," I quickly focused and straightened my posture trying to look as presentable as possible."Did you have to run down the stairs? Your braid is a mess now, and your dress is ruffled. " Straining the last sentence, she added, "Are you trying to embarrass me?"

Looking down at my feet, she continued to scold me. At least she hasn't said I wasn't trying to look my best for graduation. "Well..." She said as she circled around me, inspecting me of every flaw, and I imagine judging me for each one she found. Jerking and prodding me around, she arranged my outfit until it suited her preference. I felt like I wasn't even a person, just a mannequin to be displayed.

"At least you had the sense to wear makeup on a big day like. Come here and turn around."

With my back towards her, she undid my fishtail braid and slowly detangled my hair. Then gathering it together, she redid the fishtail braid, instead making it two braids that go around the crown of my head and merge together to form one singular side braid. Mother took a step back and admired her work, "There, perfect, although I wish you would wear heels. I'm raising a young lady, not a boy."

Looking at the time, I noticed I was already 10 minutes late for the final graduation rehearsal.

"Yes, that's right you need to arrive early for the rehearsal. Let me call Charles, so he can drop you off first."

Holding her phone, she began dialing.

"Ethan and I will arrive later when the ceremony starts."

"Mother, I can drive myself there. There's no need to call Charles."

I uttered looking down at my black flats. Studying the glossy finish; the way the living room lights glinted off them. Glancing up quickly, I watched as my Mother weighed her decision. Holding her finger hesitantly above the call button, pausing she conceded, "Fine...you may go, but don't touch any of my cars. You have to use the truck."

Exasperated, I told her, "Mother everyone will laugh at me if I arrive in that truck".

The truck was old and rundown with rust covering the bottom. My Mother had the truck before she founded Vincere. She insists the truck has a sentimental value to it that prevents her from getting rid of it. Honestly, I think she just doesn't want to take the risk that I may wreck any of her newer cars.

"You're the one who wanted to drive. Either take the truck or let Charles drive you."

Charles was our driver and he gave me the creeps. He was a weathering old man my Mother hired to be my driver when she was busy. He had deep sunken eyes that follow you everywhere. He always acted a little too over friendly, placing his hands on me when I was not expecting it. Never in a noticeably creepy way, but enough for me to feel uncomfortable. There was also the way he would look at me, not lecherously but like a specimen that needed to be studied. I hated being watched by those eyes. It felt like I was nothing but an object to him, without feelings or emotions.

I'd rather drive that old truck. Making up my mind, I tell Mother I'll see her at graduation. I grabbed my stuff and the truck's keys and headed toward the garage. Reaching the truck, I place my bag in the back and head to my last day in hell Sparta High.


Hey guys, thanks for reading my story! Please be sure to check out my other one : Life of a Supernatural Felicity's Story. This book and that one are written as "sisters to each other". Detailing the major of events in both stories from Amy's and Felicity's perspective respectively. I'll try to update this story and Felicity's Story every week until it's done. Many thanks to my beta for checking these a hundred times and also thanks to Astoundingstars from deviantart for my amazing covers.

Please review, favorite, or follow! Tell me what you think! I'm trying to give this book as diverse a casting as possible so please let me know throughout the story if I ever have anything remotely disparaging or doesn't suit a character from this culture in the comments. I want to portray them as realistically as possible.

What do you guys think Amy's sisters will be like? Can anyone guess how Amy's Mother died?