Spotlight- A Cool Story, chapter 2
After school
Still Ramona's POV
I was back in my t-shirt, my hoodie tied around my waist and my chocolate brown hair running over my shoulders. I looked for the beat up old caddy, my ride home, and couldn't see it. "Aw, crap." I hissed, and then started for the bus stop.
"Ramona?" I looked around. A young blonde guy with gray eyes smiled at me shyly. I vaguely remembered him as one of the guys that I was talking to after gym.
"What?"
"That's your name, right?"
"Well... Yeah." He smiled shyly and rubbed the back of his head, blushing. My heart melted.
"Ramona Lyons." I said, sticking out my right hand. He took it and shook it lightly.
"A.K.A. Ramona Cool."
"That's a great last name! I'm Jaxon Xavier-Raen." He cleared his throat and gave me a card. "The first number's my cell." I took it and put it into my back pocket.
"Thanks."
"No problem." He looked up at me, and gave a surprised, slightly scared kind of look. How strange.
"Um... Bye..." He waved over his shoulder and took off jogging. I smiled and turned around. Right into my boyfriends dark and angry face.
"What the HELL, Ramona!" He punched me and I was on the ground, clutching my jaw. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "YOU'RE MY GIRL FRIEND! MINE! MINE!"
"Screw off, Jason. I'm taking the bus today."
"No, wait--" He begged me, grabbing my wrist. But I pulled it away angrily and stomped off the bus stop. My jaw was stinging and my brown eyes were pricking, and I rubbed at them angrily. I got on the bus, heading to the subway station to another bus stop that would take me home.
At home
I slammed the door, not calling out "Mom! I'm home!" Like I usually would. I didn't want her to see my red eyes and purple cheek. I dropped my bag, and went into the living room. It was dark, and I turned on the lights. Five pairs of eyes stared back at me. It took me a second. Mom, Stephan, Frankie, Dad... Strange blonde girl who looked about two seconds older than me. "
What the hell? What's going on?"
"Um, hi, honey..."
"I hate being called honey. Why are you here, dad?"
"Well, um, erm..."
Silence. I crossed my arms, then my legs, then and my eyes. "I'll keep going until someone says something." Fingers, toes. My mother sighed heavily. Dad stood up. "Um, well, Ramona. This is Thorin. My um... wife." He looked down and she looked terrified. Wife? He had just gone on tour six months ago! What the fuck? She looked scared as she stood up to shake my hand. My half brother is bad enough, but a bad-mouthed, weirdly dressed, mean looking teenaged girl is a force to be reckoned with. She was around five foot four, a hundred pounds and blonde. Around seventeen. Very blue-eyed and slim. I must have looked very shocked, or angry, and sat into an overstuffed armchair without shaking her hand, glaring at her. "Die. Die now. Now. Now." I thought angrily. WHY was I so angry? My dad got divorced from my mom a long time ago, and soon after Frankie was born, he divorced Claudia.
As my dad smiled and put his arm around her, she smiled at him happily.
"Fuck this." I screamed and ran up to my room.
"Ramona--"
"Honey--
"DON'T CALL ME HONEY!!!" I screeched, and slammed my door, falling into my goose feathered bed in my sanctuary. Neon orange walls with acid green flames climbing up to half-way and crown molding, with electric blue carpet, and hot pink everything else. My clothes were everywhere, books thrown over plates, cold pizza on magazines. Okay, you can't see the carpet, but I'm sixteen, gimme a break. My instruments were lined up like sheep to a slaughterhouse. My electric guitar, my acoustic, my electric banjo and violin, keyboard and finally my drums. My soft pink bed comforted me and listened to my sobs, and the posters and pictures of all my favorite bands (some of which included my father) and hot celebrity males stared at me. When the tears wouldn't come anymore and I was just making stupid sobbing sounds, I flipped over on my back and glared at my ceiling. "My life is so screwed up." And it was my father's entire fault.
I could hear my mother screaming and crying, Stephan's low growl of a voice trying to comfort her, my dad talking like a normal human being (rare) and I guessed, my brother watching it all. A knock came on my door, and it opened, suddenly the screams became deafening. "Rae?" I heard him, and turned my head. He looked like he'd been crying. "Can I come in?"
"Only if you shut the door." I sighed. He did, and came a lay beside me on my big goosey bed. I wrapped my long arms around him and he put his head on my shoulder, and we sat there, listening. It died down, a screeching of wheels, a slamming of a door and my mother sobbing soon followed. Why was I so angry, and my mom so sad? Then silence. I looked up, Frankito was asleep, and he had gotten eyeliner on my favorite hoodie. I sighed, a little angry, then calmed down, listening. It was night by now. Guess Frankie was sleeping in my room tonight. I smiled. Just like he had when we were little. I closed my eyes, cuddled up and went to sleep.
Next day
I woke up, still in my hoodie and capris, but alone. I sat up and felt an awful pain in my jaw. "Fuck." I swore, remembering the day before.
"Tsk, tsk. Ramona. Such bad language." Ah, Frankie. Leaning against the doorway in baggy jeans and a football jersey like he owned the place. "Better get up ten minutes before now, sister dear. Or else you'll be late." I swore angrily, either at him or how late it was I couldn't be sure. Either way, he still ran away into his room. I ripped off my old clothes, shoved on new ones, tied my shoes, took a piece of toast and was out the door. There was my dad. I stopped and Frankie slammed into me.
"Um. Hey kids." He opened the door to his SUV, and bowed. I got in, slamming my bag on the ground and Frankie slipped into the back seat. He read the tension and just did up his belt and looked out the window, humming 'Give me Novocain'.
We pulled up to Frankie's school, and my dad stopped the car, undid his belt and turned around.
"Okay. Frankito, Ramona. About Thorin--"
"SORRYDADIHAVETOGOORI'LLBELATE! BYE!" And my little brother was gone. Running away like a little girl. Again. Wuss.
"Oh...Kay. Ramona. About Thorin."
"What. What about Thorin, Frank?" He hissed at the mention of his first name instead of 'Dad'. And his real name, no less.
"Ramona--"
"Frank, my school is three blocks from here. I'll walk." I stepped out of the SUV and wrapped my windbreaker around me. In an instant, dozens of teenies were on my dad's car, screaming, "Marry me! I'm only thirty years younger than you!" Pfft. Whores.
Still Ramona's POV
I was back in my t-shirt, my hoodie tied around my waist and my chocolate brown hair running over my shoulders. I looked for the beat up old caddy, my ride home, and couldn't see it. "Aw, crap." I hissed, and then started for the bus stop.
"Ramona?" I looked around. A young blonde guy with gray eyes smiled at me shyly. I vaguely remembered him as one of the guys that I was talking to after gym.
"What?"
"That's your name, right?"
"Well... Yeah." He smiled shyly and rubbed the back of his head, blushing. My heart melted.
"Ramona Lyons." I said, sticking out my right hand. He took it and shook it lightly.
"A.K.A. Ramona Cool."
"That's a great last name! I'm Jaxon Xavier-Raen." He cleared his throat and gave me a card. "The first number's my cell." I took it and put it into my back pocket.
"Thanks."
"No problem." He looked up at me, and gave a surprised, slightly scared kind of look. How strange.
"Um... Bye..." He waved over his shoulder and took off jogging. I smiled and turned around. Right into my boyfriends dark and angry face.
"What the HELL, Ramona!" He punched me and I was on the ground, clutching my jaw. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "YOU'RE MY GIRL FRIEND! MINE! MINE!"
"Screw off, Jason. I'm taking the bus today."
"No, wait--" He begged me, grabbing my wrist. But I pulled it away angrily and stomped off the bus stop. My jaw was stinging and my brown eyes were pricking, and I rubbed at them angrily. I got on the bus, heading to the subway station to another bus stop that would take me home.
At home
I slammed the door, not calling out "Mom! I'm home!" Like I usually would. I didn't want her to see my red eyes and purple cheek. I dropped my bag, and went into the living room. It was dark, and I turned on the lights. Five pairs of eyes stared back at me. It took me a second. Mom, Stephan, Frankie, Dad... Strange blonde girl who looked about two seconds older than me. "
What the hell? What's going on?"
"Um, hi, honey..."
"I hate being called honey. Why are you here, dad?"
"Well, um, erm..."
Silence. I crossed my arms, then my legs, then and my eyes. "I'll keep going until someone says something." Fingers, toes. My mother sighed heavily. Dad stood up. "Um, well, Ramona. This is Thorin. My um... wife." He looked down and she looked terrified. Wife? He had just gone on tour six months ago! What the fuck? She looked scared as she stood up to shake my hand. My half brother is bad enough, but a bad-mouthed, weirdly dressed, mean looking teenaged girl is a force to be reckoned with. She was around five foot four, a hundred pounds and blonde. Around seventeen. Very blue-eyed and slim. I must have looked very shocked, or angry, and sat into an overstuffed armchair without shaking her hand, glaring at her. "Die. Die now. Now. Now." I thought angrily. WHY was I so angry? My dad got divorced from my mom a long time ago, and soon after Frankie was born, he divorced Claudia.
As my dad smiled and put his arm around her, she smiled at him happily.
"Fuck this." I screamed and ran up to my room.
"Ramona--"
"Honey--
"DON'T CALL ME HONEY!!!" I screeched, and slammed my door, falling into my goose feathered bed in my sanctuary. Neon orange walls with acid green flames climbing up to half-way and crown molding, with electric blue carpet, and hot pink everything else. My clothes were everywhere, books thrown over plates, cold pizza on magazines. Okay, you can't see the carpet, but I'm sixteen, gimme a break. My instruments were lined up like sheep to a slaughterhouse. My electric guitar, my acoustic, my electric banjo and violin, keyboard and finally my drums. My soft pink bed comforted me and listened to my sobs, and the posters and pictures of all my favorite bands (some of which included my father) and hot celebrity males stared at me. When the tears wouldn't come anymore and I was just making stupid sobbing sounds, I flipped over on my back and glared at my ceiling. "My life is so screwed up." And it was my father's entire fault.
I could hear my mother screaming and crying, Stephan's low growl of a voice trying to comfort her, my dad talking like a normal human being (rare) and I guessed, my brother watching it all. A knock came on my door, and it opened, suddenly the screams became deafening. "Rae?" I heard him, and turned my head. He looked like he'd been crying. "Can I come in?"
"Only if you shut the door." I sighed. He did, and came a lay beside me on my big goosey bed. I wrapped my long arms around him and he put his head on my shoulder, and we sat there, listening. It died down, a screeching of wheels, a slamming of a door and my mother sobbing soon followed. Why was I so angry, and my mom so sad? Then silence. I looked up, Frankito was asleep, and he had gotten eyeliner on my favorite hoodie. I sighed, a little angry, then calmed down, listening. It was night by now. Guess Frankie was sleeping in my room tonight. I smiled. Just like he had when we were little. I closed my eyes, cuddled up and went to sleep.
Next day
I woke up, still in my hoodie and capris, but alone. I sat up and felt an awful pain in my jaw. "Fuck." I swore, remembering the day before.
"Tsk, tsk. Ramona. Such bad language." Ah, Frankie. Leaning against the doorway in baggy jeans and a football jersey like he owned the place. "Better get up ten minutes before now, sister dear. Or else you'll be late." I swore angrily, either at him or how late it was I couldn't be sure. Either way, he still ran away into his room. I ripped off my old clothes, shoved on new ones, tied my shoes, took a piece of toast and was out the door. There was my dad. I stopped and Frankie slammed into me.
"Um. Hey kids." He opened the door to his SUV, and bowed. I got in, slamming my bag on the ground and Frankie slipped into the back seat. He read the tension and just did up his belt and looked out the window, humming 'Give me Novocain'.
We pulled up to Frankie's school, and my dad stopped the car, undid his belt and turned around.
"Okay. Frankito, Ramona. About Thorin--"
"SORRYDADIHAVETOGOORI'LLBELATE! BYE!" And my little brother was gone. Running away like a little girl. Again. Wuss.
"Oh...Kay. Ramona. About Thorin."
"What. What about Thorin, Frank?" He hissed at the mention of his first name instead of 'Dad'. And his real name, no less.
"Ramona--"
"Frank, my school is three blocks from here. I'll walk." I stepped out of the SUV and wrapped my windbreaker around me. In an instant, dozens of teenies were on my dad's car, screaming, "Marry me! I'm only thirty years younger than you!" Pfft. Whores.
