To Taste the Fruit by Lorelei Sutton (desktop ebook reader TXT) 📖

polka-dotted scarf. My dress would probably look better with the purple one hanging in my sister's bedroom. "I will be right back." I jump up from my chair to race up the steps. Mother's gaze follows my ascent, probably digging holes into my retreating back.

On the way to my sister's bedroom, I continue glancing at the clock. The minutes tick by at an alarming speed, leaving me a mere ten minutes before I usually leave. I'm always ready by five minutes until I leave. This is bad.

"Noel... what are you doing?" Rachel asks, groaning from the corner of her bed. She grabs the nearest pillow and buries her face beneath it. "Leave me alone." 

"You need to get up anyways," I say while shuffling through her scarves, "unless you want to walk to school." 

"I have a ride, thank God," she says, then turns on her side, "I hate being in the same car as you." 

What a lovable sister.

I find the dark purple scarf and then after a moment of hesitation, walk over to the bundle on the bed. I fiercely shove it and it tumbles onto the floor with a satisfying thump. "Well, you should get up anyways," I mutter, just loud enough so that she could hear. There is no reason why she should be snuggling up in bed when I am suffering. It's not like she doesn't have to get to the school at the same time that I do anyways.

"Noel! You have to leave!" Mother's distant voice shouts, distracting me from looking into the mirror to compare scarves. My hands shake as Rachel begins to disentangle herself from the bedsheets with a murderous glare.

"I'm not ready!" I call while noticing that the gray complements the lace around the top of the dress. I hold the scarves up side by side again.

"I know if you leave any later your whole day will be messed up, and I don't want that." Mother's house shoes thump up the stairs, her voice growing louder as she gets closer. "Noel, please stop worrying. You look great. Don't think about it any longer."

"But-"

"No. I forbid you from looking into another mirror. I think you have spent enough time picking out  your clothes. Who knows, this might be a sign of a new and awesome change for you. When something is unscheduled, wonderful and spontaneous things can occur. Just let it happen, El."

"Mom, no-"

"I insist." She pushes me downstairs, and I break away from her to grab my lunch and backpack. "Now go have fun and break some little boy's heart!" Her yell echoes throughout the hallway as I race out the door and straight into my small, white Jeep while rolling my eyes. Mom always says the weirdest things. I'm not going to be breaking anyone's heart.  

Once I sit down, it takes a few seconds to realize what just happened. 

Mom is so good at bullying me. She catches me in the heat of the moment, and then next thing I know, I'm off doing something she wanted me to do with no clue of how I even got there. 

Tiny droplets of rain splatter onto my windshield as I start the rumbling engine. A tiny yelp escapes the machine as it comes to life. Immediately I press my foot on the gas, and the Jeep shakes violently before moving down the hill. The rain intensifies as it moves, the dark clouds gathering over the area like a gray blanket. The weather seems to mirror my melancholy mood.

Who needs spontaneity? My mother is a crazy nut job for thinking that things that are not purposed to happen could ever be good. People say that a lot, but they never really believe it. 

Take a job, for example. No one ever wants surprises then, because the only thing that can be truly unexpected is a dismissal. With Christmas, everyone has an idea of what they want, and that newly knitted, hopefully unexpected, but horribly ugly christmas sweater always causes some tears to flow from little children. Why? Because we hate surprises.

So what if I face reality instead of pretending interest in such a horrible thing? 

The roar of thunder pounds through the air as I pull up at a small, red house, still lost in thought. After a few seconds, a figure appears, covered in a shiny green raincoat. The hood falls off of her head, exposing her platinum blonde hair to the wind before she reaches up and secures it tightly. The door bangs against the side of the car as she jumps inside the jeep. 

"Noel, you are 7 minutes late! What happened?" Ana asks with concern, shrugging off the jacket temporarily. I look into the overhead mirror, taking in her bright green eyes and flawless heart-shaped face, then look away and shake my head with envy. The engine coughs as I resurrect it, temporarily.

"You are too pretty, Ana. How in the world do you do it?" I ask darkly, then pull my eyes from the mirror to the road. Ana is my best friend, who I have to look at every morning and inadvertently compare myself to. It is usually not a pleasant experience.  

"Aw, Noel..." Her slender hand touches my arm. "What's wrong?" 

Curse you, Ana, for being so considerate.

"Nothing, I'm just late. And to be quite honest, a little nervous." An unmistakable tremor enters my tone. She laughs a little, obviously noticing the stress hiding beneath the surface. 

"I've never met someone who gets so agitated just because they are late. It's not like we won't get to school on time."

"Yes..." I groan, "but it's a bad sign. I know it." An impatient car nearly rams me in the back as I wait to turn left at the stop sign. I jerk forwards, moving much faster than normal. I hate speeding. I hate stupid and obnoxious cars.

"Don't tell me you had that dream again..." Ana tries to make eye contact with me in the mirror, but I avoid her glance. There is silence for a few seconds, then she tries to talk again. "Do you remember any more of it than you did last time?"

"No, not really. It isn't a very big deal anyways." I sigh. "The real reason why I was late was because I didn't pick out my clothes last night."

"Oh no!" She exclaims, her hand on her perfectly shaped mouth in an interestingly reminiscent chain of events. The same hint of sarcasm is in her voice, too.

I can't take it.

"So what if I have mental trauma every time I don't pick out my clothes the night before?! It's a perfectly normal cause of tardiness, and much better than something like sleeping in late."

"Exactly." She wags her finger at me. "That's the funny part."

"What in the world do you mean by that?" I pull into the school parking lot with a grand flourish, nearly knocking into the curb. I feel like I have been in a Nascar speedway for the past few minutes. 

As I find my parking space and the Jeep straggles to an halt, Ana chatters on about God-knows-what. "-You are like a superwoman. Everyone knows it, and that is why they take advantage of you so often. You are too reliable. However, the silliest things throw you off-"

"Oh, stop it, Ana. I can't bear much more of this superwoman madness." I slam both doors shut and lock them, then we head towards the school. The one, the only Sunny Valley High School looms before us. I know, I know, such an inventive and original name. "I don't jump over buildings and save the world on a daily basis."

Involuntarily I glance at my wrist, only to notice that it is completely bare. Ana notices, and looks down at her own arm. "It's three minutes past eight, Noel," she comments, at which I cover my ears tightly. I hope I could somehow un-hear her words.

"Ana, that doesn't make things any better," I whisper, "I don't need to know what time it is."

"You always need to know what time it is," she laughs, "and where is your watch, anyways? I thought you never left your room without it."

"Screw you," I grumble, trying to move faster. Ana catches up, grabbing my arm with that super strength of hers.

"I'm sorry, Noel, you know how I like to tease." She smiles, and instantly the image of hopping bunnies and bright flowers and furry rabbits pop into my mind. I'm not quite sure why. "On the bright side, we aren't going to be late to class. Believe it or not, some people get to school at this time every day and manage to be just fine."

We banter back and forth all the way up to the front doors, nearly running at this point. Well, I was running at least. A throng of people mob us as we enter the main lobby, all heading towards their first class. I hate people. 

The halls, floor, and ceiling practically defines boring. Gray is the only color in this school, and for an institution that claims to promote creativity and individualism, this decor doesn't help to support it. It never fails to depress me. I glare at the nameless doors as I am swept through the river of people, powerless to stop myself. Ana has disappeared, probably off to her other class. 

The bell erupts as I finally walk through my classroom door, a jarring sound that shakes me from the inside out. It seems to snap me out of my depression, if only for a few seconds, and I remember that I have to at least act like I am excited—instead of terrified—for advisory. I raise my head up high as I enter the room, a bright smile on my face.

Mrs. Chapman looks up at me as I slink to my desk. "You are about seven minutes late, Noel. What happened?" She asks me, causing me to slam my head on the desk. Curse what the other kids think. Curse Mrs. Grizzly bear over here who had to remind me that my day is screwed up. Does she really think I don't know that I am late?

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Chapman." I quickly raise my head from the desk, my face the picture of remorse. Hopefully. "It won't happen again."

"No worries," she replies, standing up from her seat. "It's not like you were really late. And the only reason why I noticed was because you are usually the one by which I tell the time. If Noel's in the room, I know that there is approximately seven minutes until class-"

Her voice drones on and on, and I attempt to paste a pleased smile on my features. Mrs. Chapman can drone on and on sometimes. Not that I would ever tell her that.

My face grows red as some other classmates start chuckling and whispering to each other. Derek, sitting behind me, leans forward and whispers in my ear. "I hope you are ready for Chippy Chapman to start telling us stories about your childhood. I personally can't wait." He grins, flashing his shiny white teeth. An average boy in just about every way, his only talent is to annoy people to no end. Which is why I ended up with the seat right in front of him.

"Don't call her that!" I playfully elbow him, smiling brightly. "And let's hope not. That would be so embarrassing." Chippy Chapman is her nickname that's been passed around school for quite a while. There's nothing particularly bad about the name—besides the fact that she hates it. And as a lucky side-bonus, she lives about two doors down the street so she has known me since I was little. I have had the liberty of listening to her never-ending complaints for quite a while now.

And the worst part about having a neighbor that saw you in diapers as a teacher is that usually the teacher acts in one of two ways. She could play favorites, or discriminate in the opposite direction by never, ever calling on you. For me, she has