A Certain Kind Of Magic: Part Two
The glory of the morning, the meowing of an Angelpuss sitting on the driveway, the sweet fragrance of Larissa’s perfume which my sister sprayed over herself every morning; these are the things I awoke to the next morning.
Something was wrong—but what? I opened my eyes and remembered instantly. I had refused the Nimmo. Again, the same question assaulted me. Why? Why? Why? It rang in my head like a bell, telling me that I was a failure for not saying yes! yes! yes! to that Nimmo.
My brain pulsed, it was full. I then saw Larissa; she was just sliding off the top bunk which was her bed.
“Oh, you’re awake,” she said before stumbling off to the bathroom to wash her face and take a shower. She must have had a pretty late night after her party and after-party.
I shook my head to clear the whys and then got out of bed Slorgishly. When I walked out to the kitchen, I felt like I’d walked into a room of Meepits.
“What?” I said before reaching for the Neocrunch. “Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing wrong,” Tammy said, looking down at her own Neocrunch. She never had much appetite and I could see it was a struggle for her to eat all that was set before her.
“Mum, can you pass the milk?” I asked, reaching for it. Mum passed me the milk.
After another moment of silence I burst out, “Alright, I made a mistake! So what? Big whoopy-doo-dah! He looked and acted like a total and complete sleaze, I wasn’t about to accept his offer!”
“It would have been the perfect opportunity,” Dad said, looking up at me with his “you’re in trouble” face.
“I made a mistake, so what?” I growled, getting up and going to my room, slamming the door on the way.
I heard them whispering but stormily sat down at my desk and fuming, I began to write.
‘Dear Mr. Jenkins,
I am dreadfully sorry about your reception yesterday at my house. I was not in my complete right mind. If you would kindly forgive me and reconsider your idea about letting me work for your new newspaper, I would be eternally grateful. I’d love to write for it as best as I can. My abilities and wide and I can write series to articles. Please, do give me a second chance.
Kindest Regards to Yourself,
Breanna, Blue Zafara’
I looked at it hatefully then turned away and looked towards the window. Why did my life have to be so... difficult? Always doing things wrong, making mistakes, hurting people around me. When would I ever learn?
“Breanna?” Larissa said, opening the door a crack. “Are you in here?”
She saw me at my desk and sat down at the spare chair next to me. She looked at my letter quickly and smiled.
“It’s alright; he’ll come to his senses. You’re a fantastic writer and you’ll make it to the big-time yet, don’t worry.” She took my hand and looked at me.
“Thanks,” I whispered and folded the letter, put it in an envelope and just left it on my desk. I didn’t seal it with the “Breanna Writers’ Crest” that I usually did; I just left it there, to sit and look bleak.
Feeling stupid, I lay back down in bed and pulled the covers over my face to relax. Should I send my letter? I didn’t like saying I was wrong—or sorry—and it was hard for me to admit defeat. Why should I? I could get by without Mr. Jenkins. I’d be just fine, possibly better, without him. If only I could decide more easily.
“Hey Breannie,” Tammy said, walking in. “What are you doing?”
“Just lazing around.” I smiled at her. “What about you?”
“I just came to see you.”
“Don’t worry about what Mum and Dad say; they just want what’s best for you. They just want their littlest daughter to be the writer she always dreamed about being.”
I laughed. “It’s not a dream, it’s a reality. I’ve already been published once, now I just have to write more and get published heaps. I’ll be world renowned; you’ll see, Mum will see, Dad will see, Mr. Jenkins will see. Everyone will be proud of me. I’ll make it happen.”
Tammy smiled at my determination. “Well, you do that, Baby Blue. I’m going to go and talk to Mum.”
“As long as it’s not about me, I’m happy.”
Tammy laughed and went out, closing the door quietly behind her quietly. Now I was once more left alone with my thoughts. Do I send my letter and admit defeat? Crawl back to Mr. Jenkins with my tail between my legs, my quill in hand, ink-stained fingers held beseeching towards him?
No, I wouldn’t. But... then my parents would feel bad because they thought that I’d thrown away a wonderful opportunity. I could always—
“Breanna! Someone’s here for you!” Mum called from downstairs.
“Who could it be?” I whispered and ran down the stairs. When I saw who it was, I almost groaned out loud. It was Pansy, the complete and utter annoying Uni. She’s pink and she thinks the world of herself. She also says she’d a better writer than me and she hasn’t even gotten anything published although Fyora knows she’s tried.
“Hello, Brina!” she squealed in her high voice. She has this thing about calling me Brina, when my name’s Breanna. It’s really annoying although I can’t be bothered telling her that it’s Breanna anymore. I used to say, “‘Bree-a—na’, not ‘Bree-na’.”
“Hello, Pansy,” I growled. “I’m really busy right now; can you come back another time?”
“No, no, Breanna!” she cried, offended. “I came here to tell you that I’m getting published in the NT!”
“What did you Daddy make friends with the editor?”
“Yes, how’d you know?” she asked, surprised.
“Just a guess,” I muttered.
Pansy could never write well enough to get published in the NT. She probably had screamed until her rich father had paid the editor off to publish something. It would have been worth every neopoint to make Pansy stop screaming.
“Well, anyway, do you want to read it? Then, I can couch you on your writing seeing as you are so terrible at it and they only published your piece out of sympathy.”
“You know, Pansy, I think that I’ll learn best if I teach myself. I don’t need you to teach me. Thanks for the offer.”
“Oh, no, no, you need coaching, your writing is terrible!” she exclaimed, pushing me up the stairs.
“Now, you must have a character in your stories. I’ve noticed that yours are usually very mean. They need to be sweet and pretty. Also, if you can fit it in, cute as buttons.”
I listened to her lecturing and wished that I could just fall over and die—or that she would. It was so annoying! If she would just shut up, then I could get on with my puzzling over if I should send the letter to Mr. Jenkins.
“Breanna, are you listening?” she demanded.
“Thrilled, I’m sure,” I said in a bored tone. I think she’d caught on to me because I’d been snoring as I fell asleep.
“Now, you just have to—”
She chattered on and on about things I’d known in my first year of Neoschool. I looked out the window and thought about future stories. Maybe, I could write one where there was a Uni, called Pansy, and a Zafara, called Breanna, and Breanna, the Zafara, ends up telling Pansy just how stupid she is. I smiled at the thought. Just saying that would give me ultimate satisfaction. That moment before Pansy’s face hardened, the look of complete and utter indignation. That I was thinking she was stupid when I was so stupid I could barely attend first class Neoschool! But that’s from Pansy’s point of view, not mine.
“Breanna! I just asked you a question!” Pansy exclaimed, slapping the desk with a ruler.
“I’m sorry; you’re just so boring I’m falling asleep!” This was daring, but I had to say it.
“I never!” Pansy said, clearly offended. “I’ll see you in Neoschool! To think that you would say I’m boring! I’m the most fun you’ll ever have!”
“When I’m dead,” I retorted.
“Oh!” Pansy stormed out of the house and took to the sky. I smiled; finally, peace and quiet.
Pansy had disturbed my mind. I really wanted to out-publish her now, get more fame and acclaim than she did. With her Daddy paying people left and right to compliment and publish her, she’d make the big-time quickly—if no one read her stories. I looked at the letter which I had written, folded neatly inside the white envelope on the table. Then, I picked it up, took the letter out and read it.
When done reading it, I put it back in the envelope, closed the flap and very determinedly, stamped the “Breanna Writers’ Crest” into the white wax.
To be continued...