Saturday, April 21, 2012

Chapter 12: Top of the list

Chapter 12: Top of the list (Wattpad)

I’m considering dropping out of school, but when I think of the progress I made for this school year, the words ‘drop out’ just seems heartbreaking. I picked up my pen and started scribbling the last question for Athena and Will’s reviewers. And less than five minutes later, I stapled the two pages of each and looked at my cloned copies. I scribbled one above, Will and the other Athena. Okay, mission accomplished. 

I lay down on my bad and fanned my hair around me. Thoughts were swirling around my head and making me dizzy, and I tried closing my eyes but what happened was much worse. Words in black and white were flashing through my eyelids, words like Warner, Jacob, Potter, boyfriend, Athena, reputation, cookies – wait. Cookies?

What does cookies have to do with anything? Then my mind hit on the right memory. Oh, right. The cookies for Dad saving my neck because of the bike near fiasco. As I looked back on that day, it seemed to be a lifetime away from me. So many things had happened and it’s not good.

I started getting up, thinking I should check the remaining ingredients downstairs when my phone rang. Oh, what now?

I grabbed it from under my pillow and looked at the caller ID, which displays, Unknown number. Uh-oh. I watch the setting sun dip ever so slowly down the horizon and felt like kicking something. I pushed ‘accept.’


“Avery, I need to tell you something.”

I groaned and closed my eyes in frustration, “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to tell you that we have to make a list.” A what?

“A list?” I repeated, my tone full of doubt and uncertainty, “A list of what? Are you out of your mind?” 

“Any list! But it has to be about us. Just – just write something like, Things I love about Travis or something like that.” He is out of his mind. Why the hell would I do that? “Tell me what this bloody list for is again?”

“My Mom. God, she’s such a romantic. But I really want to convince her and we need something concrete.” That way he says that makes what we’re doing sound like against the law. Well, technically, it is; it violates the law of etiquette. It crushes etiquette.

 “Fine, I’ll do your bloody list.”

“You’re an angel. And I’m sorry if I’m talking to you like this, I’m kind of busy.”
“Yeah, I figured. I have something to do as well, so we should probably – ”

“Absolutely! And by the way, the Polaroid is with me. Bye, Avery. Thank you so much, you’re wonderful.” Polaroid?

“What’s with the – ” the line went dead. He just hanged up on me! I disregarded the fact that he already said bye and therefore has the right to turn down the phone but he bloody hanged up on me! 

I gritted my teeth for the millionth time this day and tried to bottle up my anger. “Why is this insanity even happening to me?” I muttered under my breath to no one in particular. After that damnable lunchtime, my friends smothered me with cannonballs of questions and right now, I know they have it in their heads that Travis and I are the type of couples that are lovey-dovey with each other – which we aren’t.

The situation is really bad for me! I don’t get irritated easily and I have rare occurrences of foul moods but everything’s turning upside down now.

Travis Warner is to blame for this mutation.

I swept my hand through my hair annoyingly and got out my plain white stationary from the cabinet as well as a Biro. I scribbled on top with a messy handwriting – my handwriting was neat before! neat! – the words, Things I hate about Travis Anthony Warner. 

I paused in thought and started a first one, He makes my blood boil. That’s perfect, but I’m sort of craving for more. I added below the first, He thinks he rules the world. I tapped my pen against the pad of paper, getting the hang of this pointless scheme. This is actually not a bad idea – I already feel some of the moodiness leave my system. 

“Avery?” I heard downstairs. 

“Coming, Dad.” I called out, but I couldn’t resist adding one more to my list, He’s vain. I put my items down and raced to the stairs and saw Dad over the stove.
Dad on the stove means trouble.

“Do you need help?”

“Honey, I did everything like your Mom said to prepare for dinner, but it just started looking like that.”

I giggled. My father attempting to cook is like Voldemort laughing with Albus Dumbledore. “You know, Dad, you can tend to the garden; I’ll cover you up here.” He gripped my shoulder and kissed my forehead, “You’re an angel.” I laughed as he went to the cupboard. He got out his gardening tools and headed out to the door. I turned to what Dad did and dumped the charred remains of – chicken? I think it is. I started everything from scratch, hoping that my not-that-bad-anymore mood will last until dinner.

2 hours later.

The bloody mood didn’t last. Partly because a lot of people had been prank-calling me ever since I went back to my bedroom – Travis’ girl minions, no doubt. And because of his bloody messages – he said he has a surprise for me and I texted him back, asking what it is but I received no reply. I sent it again, still none. I did it again. And again and again.


I should get sick tomorrow. Really, maybe a fever would do. Better yet, flu. Nobody can suspect me of having other motives for not turning up, right? It’s flu, for Christ’s sake. I cut my tasty chicken thigh with my knife, imagining it was Travis’ foot. I cut another slice because that trick did work like magic for my nerves. And the Polaroid problem is really disconcerting me. 

What the bloody hell has that to do with us?

Somehow, I don’t like the feel of it. He will do something, I’m sure of it. Why can’t he just cut the long story short and save me from these stress attacks? I don’t even feel stress before.


“Travis? I mean, Dad? Dad? What?”

“Ave, you seem distracted,” Mom said with her forehead creasing, “You okay?”

“Yeah, Mom. It’s just the three tests tomorrow and some people asked me for help and I was thinking how to help them understand and…stuff.” 

“I was just saying,” Dad said, chewing the dinner he supposedly prepared, “That you were planning to bake this Saturday.”



The bloody park.

“Yeah, I’m going to bake.” I said without vigor.

“You’ll have to make a lot – Aunt Adelaine and the others are coming.”

“What?” No! The timing is rotten! Rotten.

“They’re going to stay for three days.” said Mom. Oh, God. My uncles. My grandma. My cousins.

I’ll just have to commit suicide.

“Ave, you okay?” Mom asked again.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine.” I said, putting a spoonful of chicken in my mouth and swallowed hard, “That’s great! I missed all of them.” My voice trailed away as disturbing images formed in my mind’s eye.

What the bloody hell would happen?

I clenched my jaw and stabbed the chicken mercilessly with a fork. They won’t find out. I won’t let them.


Sylvia looked at her daughter from across the table. She was never really good at lying; that’s one of the qualities that made her dear. The mother smiled silently.
She wondered when they’ll be able to meet this Travis.


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