Harsh Reality; Chapter One

If you’re looking for a book about a shy girl that falls in love with a popular bad-boy and gets swept off of her feet for happy ending, you’re looking in the wrong place. You will not be finding any gorgeous vampires or irresistible werewolves. And no, there won’t be any magic involved in this story either. All of these are what girls without half of a brain read, which isn’t going to be the case with my book. However, if you are looking for the life of a normal high school girl, than you are in the right place.1

If I still have any one reading this, I’ll continue on to say that this is about my life, the life of Roxanne Schaffer. I’m not extremely beautiful, I’m not popular, and no, I’m not rich. But I also don’t have some sad story that I’m some sort of an orphan, or I’m poor, or that my parents beat me because I remind them of their childhood. I’m a perfectly normal girl. Okay, maybe that’s a bit of a stretch, but I can assure you that I’m not completely twisted.2

For example, I have friends. Oh, don’t look so shocked. Even though my friend group isn’t particularly large, they are all extremely close to me, and I usually can get along with anyone once I put my mind to it. My best friend that happens to be a girl is Michelle ‘Miles’ Fernandez. We’ve been close ever since third grade and have managed to remain friends ever since. The boy that I’ve grown to refer to as my adopted brother is Sebastian Colonomos. We’ve been friends for a longer time than Miles and I, but argue more often than not.3

Another thing; I’m not extremely intelligent, though I’m not stupid either. Although I’m not in many advanced classes, I tend to be able to get mostly B’s and the occasionally an A if I am understanding everything well in that class. I have to work to be able to comprehend the concepts and I often spend an hour or so a night studying. However, I’m a smart-ass, which doesn’t fly well with my teachers. But what am I supposed to do if I’m asked a stupid question? If they don’t like it, then they can keep their mouths shut.4

I’m sure that you get the idea by now, as all of the ditzy Twilight addicts have already left when I stated that vampires weren’t on the premises.5

Now, onto the explanation of this little piece of literature, or a story, if you insist on calling it that. This, my dear reader, is for a writing project for English. My teacher, who is going to be reading this and make it count for half of my fourth quarter grade, has insisted that we write a personal narrative about our lives and education carriers and the times that showed them how you act when you’re not in school. Although there is no specified length required, I’m almost positive that quality AND quantity play a part on how she deems it. That Miss. Briggs, she just loves to read. Perhaps she has too much spare time on her hands.6

She’s one of the typical teachers than Sparemount Junior High likes to hire; energetic and doesn’t care about how much she gets on her paycheck because she believes that teaching our minds and nurture them in the art of literature is her true calling. Practically all of the teachers were young and pleasant, and those who were getting on the older side were always facing the possibility of being replaced. It was to keep the moral high and for the budgeting successful.7

My school always seemed to be cutting costs to make life more extravagant for us students, which really didn’t make any sense to me. Sure, they saved up for luxurious trips and nice dances planned for us, but they tended to take away the quality of everyday things. The calculators that we were required to use were from the 80’s, at least, and were in a short quantity. The whole building itself could use a renovation, and the air conditioning doesn’t work on most floors, unless you’re in the chemistry rooms.8

Most of the students love to complain about the school and most things in general. I’ve just noticed how a large percentage of teenagers just adore criticizing anything that they are displeased about. The popular girls complain about how they gained two pounds or that their boyfriends are too gorgeous for them. The nerds whine that the technology in the school is out of date and their minds alone can surpass them. The emo kids grumble that their wrists just aren’t bleeding like they used to. Me? I nag about anything that you can throw at me, but it’s mostly about the things that have happened to me or about my family.9

My family is a gigantic topic as it is. My father is Italian, and my mother is French, originally living in Quebec for most of her life before the insurance company that she worked at transferred her to Colorado. On a business trip, she traveled to Vale, which is where my father lived at the time. They ended up meeting while skiing, and struck up a conversation. It wasn’t exactly love at first sight, but they ended up getting married and having me and my brother, Ivan. We then moved to California, San Diego to be exact. My father is loud and slightly obnoxious when he has the mind-set to be. My mother is quieter, but she chats quite a bit, too. My little brother of two years thinks that he’s gangster. It’s enough to make me want to puke.10

Now I’m supposed to have a little bit about me, as the first chapter of our lives is often the one where we get all of the details about themselves out of the way. I’m a fifteen year old girl, although my father tells me I act like an old woman. I tend to nag and complain about doing things, as I’m usually a lazy person when it comes to doing things that I don’t want to do. I have generally a nice personality, though. I’m open-minded and friendly if someone approaches me. I’m a smart ass and a bitch when I want to be, and I have been known to have a temper when pushed to a certain extent.11

In the looks department, I suppose that I’m not too bad of a sight. I have my father’s hair color, jet black. It reaches down a little past my chest and cut in layers. I possessed the standard Italian olive colored skin, though I tan very easily and rarely burn. My eyes are what my grandmother Maria dubs ‘cow eyes’, as it looks like I’m fawning over someone with just looking over them. Although I’m a bit on the shorter side and a little thin, I still have my feminine curves and have gotten my share of boyfriends. I have a monroe piercing and my belly-button is pierced, despite my mother’s wishes.12

And here the story begins.13