Readers Of The Future

1. Bad Day

There are good and bad days. Then there are super good days and memorable bad days. I am always having either a bad one or a memorable bad one. Not a bad combination for a first class freak.

Today is about to be over. It has been a typical bad day, that is because nothing atrocious happened. At least nothing I'm not used to.

Only seven minutes stands between now and the final bell. There are no bad or good days when I'm in my room, life just passes. I sit and read, sew or draw. It's peaceful and lonely. Not that I expect better since that's how it has been for as long as I can remember.

Mr. Robertson, our very strict geography teacher begins to wrap up his lesson, slowy. The sound of the bell feels like salvation and I very quietly sigh in relief. But Mr. Robertson takes his time to give us another one of his life style advises.

"I notice some of you tend to hide from everything. It's like you're satisfied with just surviving through every day. There is more to life than that." He pauses and looks in my direction. Yeah, It's always me he is trying to persuade to quit being myself.

"Find a little more courage, a little more confidence and you may get surprised by what you can do." Someone snorts, a few others laugh. That's how highly they think of me. It's hard to have confidence when things are this way. At least he didn't try to persuade me to take off my dark glasses like other days.

"That's all for the day, see you all tomorrow." He finally says the words I have been waiting for. He gathers his stuff and heads for the door. I'm already packing my bag when he halts and turns.

"Oh! I almost forgot to tell you this. Dean McDonald will be joining your class tomorrow and I ..."

He doesn't finish before cheering erupt throughout the class. Tracy Williams screams at the top of her voice. Her behavior is totally typically for a highschool lead cheerleader. She is suited for the rank through. She is cheeky, pretty and fashionable. I don't envy her since she has one more trait I'm not a fun of, she is an absolute b***h.

"I would like to appeal to each one of you on behalf of the school, please do your best to make sure Dean McDonald enjoys his stay here. His father will be funding a lot of projects in this school so his son ought to feel at home." Mr. Robertson finishes what he had to say.

"Of course! I will personally see to it." Goes Tracy's loose mouth. There is more cheering from her group of friends. My two half sisters being some of them. I and them are like heaven and earth. They are the meanest fraternal twins I have ever seen and the first borns of the family.

During their second year of high school, they left home to try out music in a club in Vegas. The club owner had given a chance to anyone with the talent to have an audience. He had promised to sponsor anyone he felt has the right amount of potential. Honestly, I didn't think those two had either talent or potential.

They got the news from Aunt Denny who lived in Vegas then. They went to stay at her place while they tried their luck. The competition was stiff and they ended up not getting the chances.They had already lost a full academic year and we ended up in the same class since they're only a year older than me.

Mr. Robertson leaves and the class is left discussing the greatest news of the year. Dean McDonald is indeed going to be attending this local school. A least for the little the time his rich father will be taking care of whatever crucial business brought him in this place.

Mr. McDonald is one of Hollywood's richest producers. He started small, wrote some of the best scripts himself and even directed most of the movies. His firm released a blockbuster after another. Even after he was named a billionaire, McDonald's passion for movie production didn't wane. He still takes part in writing and directing the blockbuster movies his firm is always releasing.

I haven't done any research of my own, but the common news is he just moved here to take care of an unknown business.

He does own a mansion in this local place, I wonder why. I have seen it myself. Or at least I have seen the gate and the wall. The house itself is far from the high walls, I think.

I listen to Tracy and her friends plan for their tomorrow as I slowly pack my bag. I don't need to be close to eavesdrop, my ears can pick sounds from very far. Not that anyone else knows. Neither do I know why they do that.

"He's f*****g hot! Can't wait to hug him." Beams Racheal, one of my half sisters. They are checking out pictures of Dean McDonald online, definitely.

"Yeah, I will let you do that. But nothing more." Tracy warns. She has already declared him "hers".

"And if he will want more?" Racheal asks,, not daring to say more least she upset the queen of bitches.

"He won't, trust me!" Tracy tells her. Her voice is stern this time. See, I have a good reason to loathe her.

"I'll be wearing my one and only designer dress. I'll look cute." Racheal is quick to counter.

"That thing goes all the way to your knees! You'll look like your sister, Walker." Lori, the most loyal of Tracy's tells Racheal.

Walker is my nickname. I got it at the age of eight when I got in an accident while sleepwalking. I don't remember all the details but my mother and sisters are always happy to retell the embellished version of the tale to anyone interested.

What I myself recalls is I was having a rare good dream. My stepfather was for the first time taking me out shopping. That's a thing he would rather die than do. He hates me that much.

The good dream turned nightmare when he disappeared while I was busy checking out dresses outside one clothing store. I went looking for him and got hit by a car.

It was all supposed to be in a dream but I woke up the next day in a hospital. The driver of the car said I came from nowhere and he only noticed me when he was too close. Those who claimed to be witnesses said they were certain I should have died at the spot. Liars! Apart from unconsciousness, I had not suffered a single bruise. Not even my nightgown had a the tinniest bloodstain.

Everyone began calling me sleepwalker after that. It shortened to simply "Walker" with time.

"Speaking of dresses, who's coming with me to town. I really need to pick something new." Tracy addresses her puppets.

"I'm coming!" My other half sister, Gina, chimes in.

"Me too." The members of the group say one after another and quickly packs their bags.

I'm about to leave my seat when Gina sets her own bag on top of my locker.

"My friends and I have got plans for the evening. Mind taking this bag home with you?" She asks. In case you're not aware, that isn't a request. It just sounds like one. She knows I'll have to carry the bag to avoid trouble with her parents.

She is already walking away before I even agree. "Make sure you don't lose a thing in it. Also don't open, I got private stuff inside." She shouts as she runs back to her friends.

At least I'm not carrying for both of them. The problem is never the weight, somehow my feminine body possesses the strength of five men squared. I am not overweight just to be clear.

The issue lies in the number of bags which is three. You realise my hands gets outnumbered.

This days Racheal mostly hands her burdens to her boyfriend, Chris. He loves to impress her and she takes full advantage. Thanks to his naivety, I'm at least able to balance the weights of two backpacks on either side as I take the short walk home.

Mother once used to pick all of us up from school. But since my little half brother, Mike, disappeared without a trace, she only picks up my half sisters.

Mike, as little as he was, was the only one who ever made me feel like I was a part of the family. He was the sweetest kid I have ever known, the only one who got me a present during my birthdays.

After a year of fruitless searching, the rest of my family just moved on. But I didn't. I miss him every day and the hope that he is still out there, waiting for me to find him, gives me a reason to face yet another unpleasant day.

Mother is always home as long as her husband didn't take her out. Her grocery business thrives under the care of a poor single father who happened to be desperate enough to accept being underpaid and overworked so that his two teenage sons can have a roof over their head. As long as he does the work, his kids can sleep in the single room behind the store. That's the deal he got.

Mother adores men, a trait she passed on to her firstborns. But she has grown older and no longer has the charming features. The only man she can have is her husband and she worships him. If he hates a thing, she makes the effort to hate it too.

Back in the times that she used to be attractive, she and Mr. Milestone had a fight and she left his home with her two twins. Both were a year old. She didn't have a job so she sought out men to help her with little income.

She met my father during one night in one of those rare posh clubs. They had a good time and he even gave her the diamond watch he was wearing. She never saw him again and doesn't like talking about him. All she has ever said is he had eyes like mine. Eyes that she cautioned me not to ever let anyone see. Not that I want to show anyway.

She sold my Father's diamond watch, opened a business and Milestone came running back to her. Their love was back on track. But I was there to remind them of the one time they wanted to forget. And just like that, I was despised by my own family.

Wherever my disappearing father went, I hope he at least prays for me. Because mother never wishes me luck let alone pray.

I enter the house and set Gina's backpack on a coach opposite the one Mother sits reading a romance novel. She doesn't look up when she addresses me.

"Your dinner is in your room." She says.

I eat alone. No one wants me near family table. I don't like eating with them either. When I used to, Mother and Mr. Milestone would ignore my presence. They would ask their children about their day at school, where they wanted to spend their weekend and much more. All the while not saying a word to me. Little Mike would attempt to cheer me up, only to be ordered to leave me alone.

"Thanks!" I say and climb the stairs to my room, peace is waiting.