Update – December 20, 2009:I have changed my penname from Little Black Dresses to SunAu. These are my stories; I haven't stolen them from anyone. I hated my penname and it got to the point where I needed to change it. I'm sorry for the inconvenience and my indecisiveness.
Chapter One – Kim Who:
Normal – (adj.) usual; healthy; occurring naturally
I'll admit that I'm not anything special. I'm part of the backdrop of what a normal family is, and what it should be.
There's a mom who does too much for her family and is hardly rewarded when mother's day arrives. Working the night shift at the little hospital as a nurse, she comes home to messes created while she wasn't there. She stresses over the late bills, taxes due, and the loans that still needed paying off.
A dad, an average Joe teacher at the local junior high – complete with long hours and a wimpy salary to show for all his hard work.
Anna, the older sister worth looking up to. She's more of the cool, popular, everyone-wants-to-be girl. A football playing boyfriend and hourglass curves with silky, chocolate colored ringlets tossed over her shoulder. She has the brains and the life.
Maybe my family counts on the fact that we are, the example of what a perfect family should be – with our little yellow house, green lawn backyard, and a stray black cat names Felix. All we're missing is the white picket fence.
My mom is into all the juicy gossip that floats around the La Push reservation. My dad tries to keep out of the gossip and hopes that nothing will turn around on us and make us the subject of all the pointing and whispering. And Anna. Her social image is too important to mess with, or even jeopardize.
I'm, therefore, the constant disappoint of this image important family.
After the perfect older sister, there's her little sister – the invisible, nerdy, paint geek who wins all those stupid, social trashing awards the school offers in attempt to bring the art out of the student body.
I'm that girl that everyone either knows as the nerdy, paint geek that gets all the good grades and, therefore, is the ideal lab partner that everyone scrambles for when lab day comes around because she'll guarantee your good grade. Or, even if you've had every single class with her since the elementary days, you still don't know her name girl.
I'm also that girl that everyone bumps into in the hallway, books flying and being ricocheted off things, and doesn't say sorry to because they either can't find the time to talk to "the weird, quiet girl" or they just don't notice they've even bumped into me – which, in turn, makes that worse. I'm always hoping for the latter.
There are no curves to follow, or silky hair for hands to want to run through. Just dull lines and springy, out of control curls that I can't bother with. I'm the same tanned color like everyone else, and my eyes aren't anything special. I'm a teacher's pet, principal's golden girl, which I guess means he doesn't know I exist, and the best friend of the band geek really helps me meet that nobody image.
Jenny, the hand-me-down clothes, playing the flute since she was eight, only child, never social enough to make more friends than me, girl is my best friend. While she dreams about her prince charming, she doesn't have the guts to even look at him. She's all I really have to eat ice cream on the pier, walking the beaches looking for beach glass, or making angles in the green grass in the neighbor's lawn with. She's the one I throw sleepovers with, and chicken out on the sleepover games with, like prank calls, truth or dare, or the just sneaking out of the house to run through the neighbor's lawn for the thrill of it.
She's the one I tell all my problems too, and she'll understand.
Her parents are divorced after a shocking, vicious break up. Maybe that was what caused Jenny to clam up for good. For awhile, people thought she was a mute from her sudden lack of interest in speaking out.
"He cheated," She whispered to me under the branches of the weeping willow. The tree is in our favorite park, in the lawn just before the rocky shore of third beach. "He cheated on her."
We didn't speak of it again, instead talking about the cute tuba player in the marching band that she was infatuated with at the time. I never got her to say hello to him.
My parents don't fight in public, again, afraid of what arguing would stir up in the world of gossip. But, when my dad comes home late – obviously trying to avoid my mother and her nagging about a second job and what they were going to do about next months bills – they duke it out, raising their voices out of stress and depression that threatens the family daily.
Anna retreats from it all in her boyfriend, Sean. She's never home. And when she is, we don't fight because we hardly interact other than the bland small talk that no one really cares about. The energy required to butt-heads about "you didn't clean up the hair in the sink," or "did you use the last of the conditioner and didn't tell me," or "is that my shirt," or "where's my CD that you borrowed," is too much to spare when we have to worry about personal problems running around in our heads.
So, in a sense, we are strangers in our own home – literally.
Jenny's the one that I tell everything, my problems, my thoughts, and my one and only secret that I'll go to the grave with.
Jenny's the only one that knows about my dangerous infatuation, my obsessive adoration for a boy so out of my league it's a joke that I even like him.
I mean, why would the schools invisible, goody-goody like the bad boy that cuts class, arrives late, jokes around, and doesn't pay attention.
But, I watch and listen anyway. I silently crush hard on the boy I sit next to in third period English, trying not to drool on my notebook while I secretly draw hearts around our names together.
He doesn't see invisible me. Who does?
I hope anyway.
Jared Thail is worth a wish on a star.
author's note: My original Jared and Kim story was called English Class, but I didn't like how it turned out. This is my attempt at a full length story, so please tell me the truth about what you think about this story. I want to get better.
Thanks, Little Black Dresses