Lyla part 5

Alainna · 2007-04-29T18:16:08Z

Crit is drastically needed at the moment!!! So...here's part 5. Enjoy. Lyla. Part 5. I heard the door close at six o’clock and I knew that my father was home. I also knew that he would put his keys on the kitchen table, kiss mum on the forehead and take his coat off, hanging it in the cupboard on his way up the stairs. It was a habit. A habit of ten years that I thought he’d never break. I switched off the radio and looked at myself in the mirror, psyching myself up for the revelation I was about to reveal to my parents. “Come on Lyla,” I muttered under my breath. I opened the bedroom door with a crunch. Dad must have been in the bathroom as the lights were on and the door was shut. That left mum downstairs. She’d be easier to talk to than dad. I went down and opened the kitchen door apprehensively, worrying about whether I had made the right decision. Mum was sat at the table drinking a homemade smoothie. She smiled when she saw me. “Sit down love and have a sip of this, it’s beautiful,” mum said and handed me the thick pink liquid. I did so and let the sweet strawberry flavour tingle my tongue. It reminded me of when mum and I used to spend a whole day just experimenting with different flavours until we found the ultimate recipe. “Remember when we’d spend hours making these?” mum asked as though she had read my mind. I nodded slowly. “Mum, we need to talk,” I said. Her expression changed completely. She no longer appeared dreamy and laid back- she was now in ‘serious mode’. “Yes…” I clenched my teeth and then let go of my breath slowly. “I’ve been thinking about the future and…I want to keep the baby.” I watched my words sink in. I was terrified that she had been hoping that I wanted an abortion. She didn’t seem to react at first. Then she got up from her chair and hugged me, keeping me safe. I heard the door open but couldn’t see a thing through mum’s hair. “What’s going on?” That was Dad’s voice. I clung onto mum even more; what was he going to say? “Samuel, Lyla has come to a decision about the baby.” Dad stopped half way through making a cup of coffee, his spoon hovering above his mug. Mum had let go of me. All you could hear now was the boiling kettle. “And,” Dad prompted quietly. Mum looked at me. “I want to keep it,” I repeated. The kettle boiled. Why weren’t they reacting? “Well?” I asked. Dad glanced at mum. She was dying to speak, I could tell. Dad continued making his coffee, his eyes not on me. “Have you talked to Tom about this?” he inquired. I should have seen this coming; dad was trying to be reasonable…I just wanted to follow my heart. I didn’t want uncomfortable discussions or arguments or tears; I just wanted a decision that suited me. “Erm…no. But it’s my body, my baby. I know he needs to be included but I am not aborting the baby no matter what. That’s the end of it.” Mum laughed, a relieved look on her face. “I’m so glad! I think you made the right decision.” Dad looked at me disapprovingly. “Maybe you should talk to Tom before anything becomes definite. Just to make sure.” He walked out the room, leaving mum and I alone again. We sat talking for ages. About me, about the future, about the baby. I said I’d still take my GCSE’s; which I would as I tried my best at school and was in the top sets. Then I’d take some time off until I was ready to go back to college. “What about Tom?” mum questioned me after a short silence. I sighed, I groaned. I felt like a trapped bird. “I need to…think about him,” I replied. The problem still remained though, was I ready to talk to him? Was I ready to start again? * * * A month went by of me mulling over what I should do about Tom, the baby and my life. One Friday afternoon I stirred my hot drink in the kitchen whilst talking to Sarah, who was hovering by the window. I chucked the spoon I had been using into the sink and slid onto a chair. “Lyla,” Sarah said thoughtfully. “Mmm…” I replied, blowing on my cup of disgusting Camomile tea that I gulped down daily. The slightest idea of drinking coffee now turned my stomach. I wouldn’t be able to keep it down. I wouldn’t even go near tea after what happened last time… “What’s…what’s it like…being pregnant?” That was a question I hadn’t been expecting. Sarah and I hadn’t talked much about the baby for a few days; we were preoccupied with GCSE revision. “I- I don’t know,” I answered stupidly. Sarah laughed and came to sit next to me. “Can I?” She stretched her hand out to my protruding stomach, which was now at the stage where I could only hide it under baggy jumpers and tops. I nodded and pushed the flat of the palm of her hand up against where I could feel the baby’s weight. She smiled at me. “You know, you’re really brave doing this,” mumbled Sarah. I sighed heavily. “Well, abortion wasn’t what I wanted. Even though I’ve always been more of a…I dunno, a good girl I suppose…getting rid of the baby, just for the sake of my education. No. Just to get a good job. No. I can deal with my education later. Mum and dad are being so supportive; I can afford to delay college. The baby is the most important thing for now.” Sarah slouched back in her chair and had a determined look on her face, a look I was familiar with from years of knowing her. She was keeping something from me, and had been all afternoon. “Sarah, what is it?” She went over to her jacket and produced an envelope from the pocket. She held it out to me. It had my name on it in long, thin, spidery handwriting. I recognised it straight away. I looked up at Sarah. By not taking the note I knew I would be hurting her, and that was something I didn’t want to do. I took it from her and fingered the edges. “You know, I never wanted you to get caught up in all this. You deserve a much better friend than me.” I allowed myself to cry, thick salty tears that made my mascara twist like snakes down my cheeks. I don’t know what I was crying for. Maybe for Sarah, maybe for Tom, maybe for me, maybe for all of us. My friend draped her arm around me, hugging me sort of sideways. “Tilly’s been asking. So has Cal. I said that since Tom and you broke up you’ve been comfort eating,” Sarah whispered, mopping away my tears with a tissue. “Thanks,” I blubbered back. “I’ll have to tell them soon. Hopefully no one at school will find out as I’ll only be five months gone when school ends. Apparently you grow the most in the sixth and seventh month.” “As long as you don’t look like you’ve swallowed a watermelon,” Sarah giggled. I giggled too. For the next hour I forgot about the note completely. I sat on my bed, the chorus of an Oasis song playing quietly in the background. The envelope was in my lap, and had been for the last 48 seconds. I just couldn’t decide whether to open it or not. Tom and I had begun ignoring each other completely now, and I tried to avoid him at school. Why did he want to write now? I tore open the envelope and unfolded the contents; a piece of lined paper that appeared to have been ripped out of a note book. I began to read: Lyla, I’ve come to the point where I can no longer keep my feelings bottled up. This was never how I wanted us to be. You’ve always said that if a relationship is meant to be someone would stand up and fight for it. Well here I am. I’m fighting for us. Sarah tells me that you went for a scan last month. (Why don’t you want to know the sex of the baby?) I’m glad everything’s healthy. All I want to do is talk. You don’t need to love me, in fact you can hate me as much as you like, I probably deserve it. But please don’t shut me out. I’ll be at ‘Easy Beanz’ on Monday after school. I’ll understand if you don’t turn up. Tom I read it through twice, and then leant back on my pillows. I laughed and stuffed the note back into the envelope. “Hey foetus,” I spoke to my belly. “How about a different CD?”

Hi again!

myself in the mirror, psyching myself

Repetition here=bad.

than dad

Capitalise the first‘d’. In fact I noticed this error a few times. A year on I'm sure you've worked it out, but remember; you refer to the dad as Dad.

Dad stopped half way through

One word.

All you could hear now was the boiling kettle.

The direct audience isn’t very fluent, just use ‘I’.

“And,” Dad prompted quietly.

This is a question prompt, I would mark it as one.

“Have you talked to Tom about this?” he inquired. I should have seen this coming; dad was trying to be reasonable…I just wanted to follow my heart. I didn’t want uncomfortable discussions or arguments or tears; I just wanted a decision that suited me.
“Erm…no. But it’s my body, my baby. I know he needs to be included but I am not aborting the baby no matter what. That’s the end of it.”
Mum laughed, a relieved look on her face. “I’m so glad! I think you made the right decision.”
Dad looked at me disapprovingly. “Maybe you should talk to Tom before anything becomes definite. Just to make sure.” He walked out the room, leaving mum and I alone again.

The entire last part seemed a bit tame; perhaps you should mention the awkwardness when Dad left the room.

was ready to go back to college.

I thought she was at school, not college yet?

One Friday afternoon I stirred my hot drink in the kitchen

This makes it sound as if this is the first time Lyla has ever done it.

the most in the sixth and seventh month

'Month' should be plural.

You don’t need to love me, in fact you can hate me as much as you like; [SEMICOLON] I probably deserve it.

***

I'm back with another picky crit.

Good ending by the way :wink:

I am running out of things to say in terms of advice, so I will see what I can come up with:

As much as I em enjoying this, I think you need something significant to happen in order to make this distinguishable from other of the genre. My advice would be to focus more on the vulnerability of Lyla. Sure her friends and family are being very helpful but what about those who don't know her? How does she react? Is she frantic, paranoid? Hormonal? Do your best to make her stand out.

Overall, good continuation, I hope I am helping

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