Some swearing in it. This is the beginning of a narrative I've started. It's based around Scarlett by Cathy Cassidy and the movie Wild Child, but I've made it into play-doh and made it my own, I'm not plagiarising. Tell me what you think!
Chapter One
Here I am, back in the waiting room of the heads office. This isn’t the second time, or the third. I’ve lost count, to be perfectly honest. The secretary, or “assistant of evil”, Miss Voyla is staring at me with those beady eyes. Eyeing off my beauty, surely. What she can see of it anyway – thick eyeliner, black nails, emo-ish haircut (black, side fringe and so on) hides it. That speaks beauty in my books, anyway. Finally, Mrs Flynn, the sadistic principal calls me in.
“Aisling Cuthbert!” She screeches. “Enter!”
I walk into her office and have a seat. “Flynn. Good to see you. It’s been over a fortnight since I was last in your fine office.” I say, cracking my gum and using the other chair as a footrest, showing off my red converse. I wouldn’t wear any others – I won’t be able to function without my red or black stilettos or wedge heels. If I wear them to school I’ll never see them again.
“There is nothing funny about this, Miss Cuthbert. I suppose you are familiar with this?” The old hag holds up a poster with Mrs Flynn gone wild! See her tonight 10:30, only at Woodvale secondary! Splashed all over it. I am quite proud of that feat, I wandered through school putting them up late last night, when the drunks and druggies came out to have punch ups on the grassed areas.
“Oh yeah! How’s it working for you?” I say, blowing a bubble.
“The wolf whistles, pinches on my rear by horny gentlemen are not funny, Miss Cuthbert. I don’t suppose you know what they do for a living, do you Aisling?”
“Of course, Miss. They pay girls to shag them, do weed and crap, and drink.”
Flynn mutters something along the lines of “Probably one of them herself.”
“What?” I scream.
“Aisling, your mother has arrived.” Miss Voyla is at the door, staring with those beady eyes.
Mum enters the room, swishing her brown hair over her shoulder and glaring at me. “What has she done this time?” She asks. Flynn holds up the masterpiece. Mum’s face goes red to purple, then back to red. “Aisling Maria Cuthbert! What do you call this?” She screams.
“It’s a masterpiece, mother. Do you want one of your own?”
“Don’t be smart with me, Aisling. You are in so much trouble! Mrs Flynn, what will her punishment be?”
Flynn looks it up on her computer and finds results. “Let’s see... One suspension for starting a food fight at the canteen... A second suspension for swearing and pushing a teacher, not to mention multiple detentions... Mrs Cuthbert, may I speak with you privately?”
“Of course,” Mum says.
I walk out the office, into the hall.
“I’m afraid I have no option but to expel Aisling from this school. She is clearly a very troubled girl. Imagine what she could do if she continues this path? She could commit crimes! Become a junkie! Mrs Cuthbert, please accept my suggestion of getting help from a professional for Aisling. I know from her record that she wasn’t always like this. You may leave,” Flynn says professionally.
Miss Voyla looks at me strangely, but I have an excuse for having my ear pressed against the door. “I have a right to know what’s going on, Miss.” I say.
Mum walks out of the office. “Aisling, let’s go.” She says, stone-faced.
I smile sweetly at Miss Voyla, and then I walk out the door through the car park, to the car. Mum unlocks it, and I get in, do up my seatbelt. For about five minutes we travel in silence, then mum breaks it by saying “Aisling, this is your third school to expel you. Three schools in a year and a half! Six months you lasted at Woodvale. Six! It’s a joke! Do you know how hard it is to get schools to take you once they see your record? Well?”
“I don’t give a shit. My life isn’t exactly a bloody picnic, you know.”
“Look Aisling, life isn’t easy for me either. Your dad lives in England and Louise’s death wasn’t easy on me.”
“Louise was my twin sister. We shared DNA. But you had to turn off her oxygen machine! YOU KILLED HER!” I scream. Louise died exactly one week before we turned fifteen, and dad left a year before that.
“Look, Aisling. We all took it hard, but you have to let it go. You are sixteen now – almost an adult. Louise wouldn’t want you to be like this. Neither do I. But we are on top of things in terms of finance, so I can buy you clothes, makeup, DVDs, things you like. That just isn’t good enough, is it? What do you want?”
“A life! A life where my mother will let me grieve for my twin!”
“Fine!” she snaps, as we enter the house. “Have that life. I’m sick of the disrespect. The arrangements have been made. You are going to England.”
