Welcome to California, Chanel., chapter 1
No 'chavs'. No 'goths'. No 'punks'. Sure, there were skanky little girls running around. But no notification of social hierachy whatsoever. All the teachers were nice. She had already aquired some friends. It was too good to be true for a new school.
This year will be perfect, she had thought.
And then, Chanel's world came crashing down.
The police said it was arson. One of the tenants got in a dispute with the landlord over rent. Either way, the fire had spread, and fast. Now the apartment complex, which had stood eleven stories tall, was a mere pile of ash, debris, and furniture, half-eaten by fire. The evacuated residents, from Mrs. Applegates on the fifth floor to the man that never spoke, looked at the remains in awe.
She was moving. No more house, no more town, let alone the same state. It would be California. Breeding ground for the valley girls, slums, and suburban areas.
There was nothing left but the clothes her family was in, her mother's wallet, and the car. For Chanel, Soph, and Gabriel there was no where else to go but from Boston to California, crammed in the back seat of their walnut-paneled station wagon, eating at diners, trying to make the best out of the journey. Watching their mother grow more weary and exasperated eact day until finally, they had arrived.
It wasn't the best neigborhood, she said. Soph and Chanel would be going to a school in a nearby city called Oakland, she said. They would take the bus there. Gabriel would be going to a school in Rodeo until he entered Highschool, she said.
The house was out-of-shape. It was a house, but out of shape. The wooden steps were broken and crooked. Eggshell white paint was peeling off the two-story exterior. A lawn entirely made up of weeds spilled out into the cracked driveway and cement sidewalk. Inside, it was fairly spick-and-span, compared to the outside. A few spiderwebs lingered, and an out-of-tune piano, left by a previous resident, was sitting in the corner of the living room. The linoleum and wooden floors were shiny and polished.
Upstairs, there were three bedrooms. Gabriel, being the youngest, got his own. Chanel and Soph would share. Their mother left, off to snatch a pizza and some necessities. Maybe tomorrow, Saturday, they would shop for appliances and new clothing.
Chanel, in desperate need for a shower, went to the downstairs bathroom and turned on the water.
Nothing happened.
She turned it up higher.
Still nothing.
As high as possible.
Nothing at all.
"God dammit," she said.
The shower head began to shake.
"Fucking A," she growled and reached for the handle.
The showerhead went off like a bomb, flying through the air and narrowly missing Chanel's head while sending water everywhere. Chanel managed to slip and grab a hold of the handle again and turned it off completely.
When she emerged from the bathroom, soaking wet, Soph and Gabriel were waiting for her both looking equallly confused.
"Long story short," Chanel said, "our shower's now broken."
She trudged outside to sit on the steps so her clothes could dry and tucked a strand of damp black hair behind her ear.
"So you're one of the new neighbors..."
Chanel looked up. A reddish-brown haired boy, a year or so older than her, was staring at her with green eyes from the sidewalk. He had a cigarette in one hand.
"Oh no," she said cynically. "I've lived here all my life, you just never saw me."
He laughed, but didn't seem too amused.
"Anyways, well, I'm gonna go down to Gilman. I'd ask you to come but apparently you already know where that is?"
"No, I don't know where it is. I'd come, I guess, but I have to look after my younger brother," she lied. She knew very well that Soph could take care of Gabe. But she didn't want to really go anywhere, despite this person being a potential friend.
He nodded. "'Kay. Well, by the way, my name's Billie. I live over there." Billie pointed two houses away to the right.
"Chanel," she responded, and waved.
He waved back and continued walking down the sidewalk.
Chanel finally looked at the rest of him. He was wearing a Clash t-shirt, jeans, and grubby converse.
"Hey!" she yelled.
He turned around, a quizzical look on his face.
"You like the Clash?" she said.
"Yeah!"
"Wicked awesome!" she said, beaming. Maybe this move wouldn't be so bad.
This year will be perfect, she had thought.
And then, Chanel's world came crashing down.
The police said it was arson. One of the tenants got in a dispute with the landlord over rent. Either way, the fire had spread, and fast. Now the apartment complex, which had stood eleven stories tall, was a mere pile of ash, debris, and furniture, half-eaten by fire. The evacuated residents, from Mrs. Applegates on the fifth floor to the man that never spoke, looked at the remains in awe.
She was moving. No more house, no more town, let alone the same state. It would be California. Breeding ground for the valley girls, slums, and suburban areas.
There was nothing left but the clothes her family was in, her mother's wallet, and the car. For Chanel, Soph, and Gabriel there was no where else to go but from Boston to California, crammed in the back seat of their walnut-paneled station wagon, eating at diners, trying to make the best out of the journey. Watching their mother grow more weary and exasperated eact day until finally, they had arrived.
It wasn't the best neigborhood, she said. Soph and Chanel would be going to a school in a nearby city called Oakland, she said. They would take the bus there. Gabriel would be going to a school in Rodeo until he entered Highschool, she said.
The house was out-of-shape. It was a house, but out of shape. The wooden steps were broken and crooked. Eggshell white paint was peeling off the two-story exterior. A lawn entirely made up of weeds spilled out into the cracked driveway and cement sidewalk. Inside, it was fairly spick-and-span, compared to the outside. A few spiderwebs lingered, and an out-of-tune piano, left by a previous resident, was sitting in the corner of the living room. The linoleum and wooden floors were shiny and polished.
Upstairs, there were three bedrooms. Gabriel, being the youngest, got his own. Chanel and Soph would share. Their mother left, off to snatch a pizza and some necessities. Maybe tomorrow, Saturday, they would shop for appliances and new clothing.
Chanel, in desperate need for a shower, went to the downstairs bathroom and turned on the water.
Nothing happened.
She turned it up higher.
Still nothing.
As high as possible.
Nothing at all.
"God dammit," she said.
The shower head began to shake.
"Fucking A," she growled and reached for the handle.
The showerhead went off like a bomb, flying through the air and narrowly missing Chanel's head while sending water everywhere. Chanel managed to slip and grab a hold of the handle again and turned it off completely.
When she emerged from the bathroom, soaking wet, Soph and Gabriel were waiting for her both looking equallly confused.
"Long story short," Chanel said, "our shower's now broken."
She trudged outside to sit on the steps so her clothes could dry and tucked a strand of damp black hair behind her ear.
"So you're one of the new neighbors..."
Chanel looked up. A reddish-brown haired boy, a year or so older than her, was staring at her with green eyes from the sidewalk. He had a cigarette in one hand.
"Oh no," she said cynically. "I've lived here all my life, you just never saw me."
He laughed, but didn't seem too amused.
"Anyways, well, I'm gonna go down to Gilman. I'd ask you to come but apparently you already know where that is?"
"No, I don't know where it is. I'd come, I guess, but I have to look after my younger brother," she lied. She knew very well that Soph could take care of Gabe. But she didn't want to really go anywhere, despite this person being a potential friend.
He nodded. "'Kay. Well, by the way, my name's Billie. I live over there." Billie pointed two houses away to the right.
"Chanel," she responded, and waved.
He waved back and continued walking down the sidewalk.
Chanel finally looked at the rest of him. He was wearing a Clash t-shirt, jeans, and grubby converse.
"Hey!" she yelled.
He turned around, a quizzical look on his face.
"You like the Clash?" she said.
"Yeah!"
"Wicked awesome!" she said, beaming. Maybe this move wouldn't be so bad.
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