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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1920175-Dew-Morning
Rated: E · Fiction · Young Adult · #1920175
The chilling morning of the first day of high school and life...
Messenger bag? Check. Hoodie? Check. Converses? Check. Mickey Mouse CD Player? Check. Where’s my CD…? Oh! Check! Grim expression? Check. I let out a sigh as I stare at myself in the mirror.

“Jennifer! We need to go! You not going to have me being late, child!”

I stare at the door for a moment then pick up my bag. Slowly two stepping my way down the carpeted stairs, I pause at the end. My mother is rushing again. The alarm didn’t go off so she’s in a bad mood. What’s new there? I lean against the wall and wait. Her chemically dyed bronze blonde hair darts from different sides of the room turning off lights, checking the thermostat, and grabbing her clip-on earrings. Then her dark brown eyes fall upon my mine. Of course, I shoot my gaze straight to the floor.

“And why are you so depressed? You’re just going to school. Not to a job where there is constant ignorance and lazy people everywhere!” Her voice grows higher. Yup, another bad mood. She brushes pass me to the door. “You have to get an education so you don’t have to do it one day.”

I continue to stare at the floor. It’s not the education I’m anxious about. It’s facing another year at Iverson Preparatory High School or the mansion in the woods, home of the Chessmen. One of the top schools in the city, I worked hard to get in. Passed every test, was loved by every teacher, and focused on the end game instead of social distractions. That’s what it takes to be number one. At least, that’s what my Mother said it did.

With the flip of the switch, we are off into the early dew of morning. Its January and you feel the chill against your cheek, see your breath in the air. I relish the bite of winter. It’s like nature’s way of talking back to you. My Mother deposits herself into our little white Kia as I do my morning task of scrapping frost off the windows. The car starts with a low whistle and we’re going 35 up the street. On to work. On to school. On to life.
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