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Azalea

By @bowties_r_cool

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

“Give it back!!”

“No way! Finders keepers, losers weepers! Ha!”

“That does not apply to this! It is my phone. Not some random phone you found. Now give it back Lorna!”

“Azalea! Lorna! Down here now!”

We look at each other and start running. I take the back stairs and Lorna takes the front. I get to the kitchen first. I quickly put on my innocent child face and sweetly ask, “Is there a problem mother dearest?”

Mom looks at me and grumbles, then shouts for Lorna to hurry up. I peek around the corner and Lorna is shoving peppermints in her mouth from the bowl on the front hall table. Ha. Just as I suspected. As secretly as I could, I sneak back to mom and tell her. Her face sets into a deep frown and she marches towards the front hall. I hum to myself as i choose a piece of candy from the pantry. Distracting mom makes it ever so much easier. Dad was more on his guard.

I stop. I was surprised by that thought, I had not thought about him in ages. Mom used to try and get me to contact him but she eventually gave up. It wasn’t like he tried to keep in contact anyway.

I grab a couple more pieces and run to my room. Hoping for some peace and solace. I collapse into my piles of pillows, then procede to turn and toss around, trying, and failing, to get in the perfect position. Finally, i am comfortable. It is then I realize that, 1: My book is on my dresser, on the other side of the room, 2: My phone is in Lorna’s room, and 3: Mom was calling me again.

I sigh, shove my blankets and pillows off me and go downstairs. Mom sets a sern gaze on me as I amble into the kitchen. I observe the kitchen, trying to ignore her. We inherited this house from my grandfather and the kitchen was his pride and joy. The rough stone counters, the shiny steel oven and cooktop, and our island covered in homework papers and bills. And to top it off, the french windows by the breakfast table letting sunlight reflect off everything that has luster. It really is something to love. My father loved it too. He was always in here, whipping up something that made our mouths water. 

“Azalea.”

I snap back to attention. Mom stands by the table and gestures for me to sit down. Lorna is already sitting down in her seat, sniffing. As I sit down, I mutter, ”Quit it baby.”

She gives me a death glare and kicks me under the table. I kick her back. My mom sits down on the chair across from us and sighs with her head in her hands. After a couple of minutes I start to hear faint, but inevitable crying. I get out of my seat and hug her. Lorna follows suit.

“I just don’t know what to do! You girls are always fighting! I can’t understand why and your father acting like he has never known us! I cant anymore! You girls are almost woman now! You tell me that you are old enough and responsible enough, but you are always fighting! The never ending fighting! Im sick of it!

She lets out another sob and then runs to her room.

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