Untitled Novel - Prologue

This is my first attempt at writing something other than poetry. I'm hoping to really take this novel somewhere. Please tear this apart when reviewing!

I met Natasha when we were in the third grade. Having just turned nine, I remember being jealous because Natasha had been nine for a whole six months. We met at elementary school.

One day at lunch, a rather pudgy kid with braces and spiky red hair named Johnson Reed was picking on the new girl, Natasha. He was making fun of how put-together she was. She had neither a hair out of place in her sleek blonde pony tail, nor a dirt or grass stain on her perfect, white Capri pants.

As a kid, I normally wouldn’t have stepped near a girl like Natasha, let alone put my neck on the line for her. I was a major tomboy as a kid; I was picked first for all the sports teams, and I didn’t hang out with girls because they annoyed me. Mud and bugs were my best friends. But, for some bizarre reason, I felt bad for her.

“I’m sorry, Barbie! Did I hurt your feelings?” he mock-cried at her. She sat quietly, trying not to cry.

“Johnson, since your voice is too high for any of us humans to hear, why don’t you go find some bats to talk to?” I asked disgustedly, stepping in between him and Natasha.

“Move out of the way, Sparks.” For some reason, most of the boys at school liked to call me by my last name.

Being the immature third grader that I was, I responded with, “Make me, you moron!”

Johnson stepped close to me, but it didn’t intimidate me like he wanted. I took a step toward him and grabbed his shirt collar. He let out a little squeal. I was notorious for picking fights, and winning them.

“If you say one more word to her, I swear I’m going rip out one of your teeth and throw it in the sand box. You understand?” I narrowed my eyes, and pulled his shirt collar a little tighter. Knocking out a tooth wouldn’t be too hard. It wouldn’t be the first time. Granted, they were baby teeth I punched out, but still. It would hurt.

“Whatever. Get off of me,” he mumbled, shoving away my hand, and sauntering off with his friends.

I sat down next to Natasha, who had remained quiet for the entire squabble. She smoothed her hair, and turned towards me.

“Thanks,” she said with a timid smile. Her eyes were red from her near tears.

“Yeah, sure,” I murmured, not used to people thanking me. I normally didn’t put myself on the line like that for someone I didn’t know.

“I’m Natasha Oliver.” She stuck her hand out. Her nails were painted pink, perfectly manicured to a faultless round shape.

I stared at her hand. Who shook hands anymore? Nevertheless, I grabbed it with my dirt covered hand and gave it a firm pump. “Ellen. Most people call me Sparks, but I like Ellen better.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Ellen. I’m new, but you already knew that probably. My parents just brought me here from Florida, but before that we lived in Tennessee. We move around a lot… my parents get bored of where we’re living at the time, and we just pack up and leave. We’ve never been to a big city, though; just small country towns…”

Natasha rambled on, and I idly listened. I was more focused on Johnson, giving me death glares across the room. I stuck my tongue out at him and turned back to Natasha.

“…but that’s not how I meant it. I think she doesn’t get it, ya know?”

“Yeah, totally,” I lied. I had no idea what she was talking about. We continued lunch that way, me stirring my pudding pointlessly and her jabbering away.

* * *

The next day, I walked into my classroom to find Natasha sitting in my seat. She was staring down at her notebook, drawing a pattern of some sort.

“Hey.” I nudged her shoulder. She turned to look at me.

“Oh, hey! How are you? I want to thank you again for yesterday, you really saved my tail. Maybe sometime we could-”

“That’s my seat.” Her smile faltered.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I...I guess I’ll just move.” She gathered her stuff and moved to the seat next to mine. She dumped her pencils onto the table and started lining them up as I took my seat. I looked at her neat, clean workspace, then at the cluttered, messy one that I had managed to create in that short period of time. I started to shuffle my papers together, trying to tidy it up a bit.

“You should come over today,” she blurted out.

“What?”

“Yeah. You should come to my house. I live in…River Wood? I think that’s the name of it. I can’t remember. My street name is Morrison. It’s near that little store place with the green door...shoot, what was the name of it?”

Our town of Lakeside was a very small one. Pretty much any business was located on Main Street, and there were about 4 subsequent neighborhoods that you could reach from there: River Wood, Kessler Mill, Beverly Heights, and Greenhill. Our businesses included and were pretty much limited to: about 10 restaurants, a Wal-mart, 3 gas stations, a couple locally owned hobby shops, a clothing store, and a gym.

“River Oaks.” I leaned back in my chair. “I live on Fox Field. The store’s name is Knit-Knacks. They sell yarn.”

“Oh, okay! So you’re coming over then, right?” She beamed at me with her big stupid brown eyes and fluttered her eye lashes. What the heck? I had nothing better to do.

“Sure. I’ll ask my mom.”

“Great! We’re going to have so much fun. We have a trampoline, and a tree house, Barbie dolls, and Polly Pockets, and…” I tuned her out eventually. Then, like the day before, we spent the rest of our time like that: her talking up a storm, and me pretending to listen.

* * *

When I got off the bus and went into the house, my five-year-old sister, Amelia, was asleep on the couch, clutching her teddy bear with both hands. A little puddle of drool was forming on the arm of the white couch. Gross.

“Mom, I’m home!” I found her in the kitchen, chopping carrots. “Hey, mom.”

“Hey, sweetie. How was school?” She handed me a piece of carrot.

“Fine.” I chomped down into the carrot. “Um, a new friend invited me over. She lives nears us, behind Knit-Knacks. Can I go play?”

Looking back, I now recognize the look on my mom’s face; surprise. It was because one: I made a new friend, two: she was a girl, and three: I wanted to hang out with her. After she recovered from her shock, she nodded her head and said that it would be fine.

I could tell which house was Natasha’s because I knew most the neighbors, and after narrowing it down to three houses I didn’t know the owners to, I chose the house with pink bicycles and Barbie dolls strewn across the yard. When I knocked on the door, I was welcomed by a skinny lady with hair so blonde it looked white. A little boy, also with blonde hair, was clinging to her leg.

“Oh. Hello...” She trailed off at “hello,” leaving her mouth in an “O” shape.

“Hi. Um, Natasha said I could come over today? I’m Ellen.”

“Oh.” She turned her head inside the house. “Tasha! You have a friend over.” She smiled at me.

Natasha shuffled to the door, looking as confused as her mom. “Ellen? Hey. I didn’t think you were coming. Sorry, mom. Can Ellen play with me?”

Her mom nodded and walked away.

“So, what do you want to do?” she asked me, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I don’t care. Anything.”

I remember that day as one of the best days of my life. We played outside until the street lights came on. We invented games that made no sense. We played with every toy we owned. That was the first time in my life I felt accepted. That day was like the pilot episode of our lives. From there on out, we were best friends. “Friends ‘til the end, through thick and thin,” we said. And as far as I knew, that was the truth.