-This is my first story, and my first chapter, feedback would REALLY Help me improve…Hope you enjoy it!-
It's 7:05am, I got 25 minutes until school…Middle School to be exact. This must be the definition of hell, I swear it is. All these changes, you find out things about yourself you never knew…it sucks. Plus, I'm also anxiously awaiting for something. In my social studies class we're supposed to make a family tree. I Already have my mom's side, but my dad's is more complicated since his whole family is from South America, so I got some DNA test done that's supposed to help tell me where I come from basically and all this fascinating stuff. My mom wouldn't pay for me to use one of those family history websites when I'll only need this once, so we just did a DNA test. I love learning new things….but I don't like school, I hate the teachers, telling you what to do, I hate it.
"Emma," My mom, Charlotte, sighed. "Hurry up! You know how long the line in the parking lot at school is! You're going to be late AGAIN!"
"It's not my fault that stupid lady in the office doesn't understand why I'm late," I rolled my eyes, after a bite of my cereal.
"Watch it, Missy," She said, giving me a stern look, right before my dad walked in.
"Morning!" He smiled, kissing my mother on the cheek, completely ignoring me, nothing different than what I'm used to.
"Morning, Babe," My mom said, picking up my still half-full cereal bowl.
"Oh yes mother, I'll just starve until lunch," I rolled my eyes, getting a stern look from both my parents, then sighed. "Sorry, I guess."
"You guess?" My dad asked.
"Fine, I AM," I rolled my eyes again.
"Good…" He said, looking at me hard, then shook his head. "I need some more cologne."
"Trust me, you don't," My Mom commented.
"Haha…" My dad mocked her. "I'm gonna get some more, then wake Aiden up."
"He's still asleep!" My mom asked.
"He's an 8-year old, all he needs is to wake up, throw on some clothes and grab a blueberry muffin and he's all good!" My dad said getting up as my mom just rolled her eyes at his response.
"So…" I Said, trying to change the subject. "When are the DNA results coming back in?" I asked, getting a sigh out of my mom.
"12 year olds should not be conducting DNA Tests unless they seriously think they were switched at birth," My mom commented as my little brother Aiden came in with his PJ's still on.
"She probably was," He said, causing my mom to raise an eyebrow as he reached for a muffin. "She's whiter then milk!"
"So?" I asked.
"So dad's Mexican! YOU'RE Mexican too! Mexican's aren't whiter then milk!" He said.
"Selena Gomez is a Latina and she's 'Whiter then milk'" I rolled my eyes.
"She's also half Latina though," Aiden said.
"So are we," I said.
"Yeah, but I still look Mexican, you just look like white trash," He said.
"AIDEN!" My mom shouted.
"I'm just sayin…" He said, throwing his hands up for dramatic effect, then going to the living room to watch Spongebob. Since he's in Elementary School still, he doesn't have to go in until 8:15 so he has about another hour. My mom sighed, then got back on subject.
"Again, why is this so important?" She asked.
"It's for Social Studies!" I Said. "It's supposed to tell me about Dad's side of the family so I can build my family tree, which is worth 50 points, and you're always telling me to get good grades, aren't you?" I Smirked.
"Whatever," My mom said, grabbing her purse and my backpack. "It should be in the mail after school. Speaking of school, we can't be late, come on."
I Sighed, then got up and ran out to my mom's SUV for school.
Once that final bell rang at the end of Ninth Period, I ran out the door and started running home- I walk, both my parents work until 5pm-, anticipating seeing my test in the mail. I almost got hit by a car while running across the street, but whatever. It's Chicago, road accidents happen all the time, but since I'm not even a teenager, if this person hit me we could sue and get a load of money, so not my problem.
I kept running until I was running up the concrete steps to my house. Sure enough- the results were in the mail.
"Perfect," I smirked, running my left hand into my dark, long hair. I unlocked the door and ran inside and put all my school stuff down, then flopped onto the couch and opened it up.
I started reading it, and became entirely confused. Entirely. It got to a family tree part, yes, but my dad was basically the only person they could trace. Not me.
They couldn't even trace me to him at all.
"Whoa…" I said, chills going up my spine.
It didn't take an idiot to figure this out-
The man I thought was my dad isn't.
"Oh my god," I began.
Who's my dad? Why did my mom never tell me this? Who am i? What's my race?
All these questions popped into my mind while reading this. Am I adopted or something? What's going on?
-London, England. WWE RAW Houseshow, Backstage Trainers room-
"SON OF A BITCH!" Phil Brooks, but better known as CM Punk, yelled.
CM Punk had just been in a match against David Otunga, but a move went wrong and CM Punk's shoulder is very damaged. It's all bloody and he can't move it one bit. It's a very horrible, graphic scene.
"Alright just try moving it for me," The head trainer told him.
"I CAN'T!" Phil screamed.
"Alright, im gonna get something to wrap it up, then we'll set up an MRI date to see what else we'll have to do."
Phil sighed at the word MRI. He hated those. In his almost Five Year Wrestling career with the WWE ALONE, he'd had more MRI's then he'd ever needed back in other promotions. He just laid back, his left shoulder shooting with pain, he knew he probably would needs surgery.
"CM Punk," An awfully familiar voice said. It sounded horrible, HORRIBLE. Phil looked up, then rolled his eyes.
"Oh…it's just you, thought it was someone important," Phil said.
"I'm your boss, I am important!" John Laurinaitis said to him, putting his blackberry in the back pocket of his black suit.
"What do you want, jackass," Phil asked him, blankly.
"Punk, I would just like to express how sorry I-"
"SORRY? SORRY!" Phil shouted. "You're not sorry! You're the reason I'm here!"
"Excuse me?" John asked him, surprised.
"You were able to get Otunga to stop kissing your ass for a moment to wrestle me and you TOLD Him to botch that move and injury me to get rid of me!" Phil yelled.
"Oh yeah? What if I did? How the hell are you gonna prove it, Punk. How?" John yelled back.
"Look, I don't know if I'll need surgery or not, but I'll be out for a couple months. I'll be rehabbing my shoulder from this injury, and you can bet that when I do come back, I'll be better than ever, and you know what?" Phil said, then pausing to get face-to-face with John. "I'm gonna KICK YOUR ASS."
John looked at him for a good hard moment, then smirked and took a couple steps back.
"See you in a couple months, Punk," John smirked before taking his blackberry out again and leaving the room.
Phil rolled his eyes as the trainer came back to wrap his shoulder up in a bandage.
"So, I'm thinking tomorrow afternoon back in Chicago, I can set something up at the hospital in Northwest for an MRI?" The trainer asked Phil, who sighed.