Young Writers Society

Here's a novel I'm "working on".

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Chapter One

Paige realized she was born into the wrong family a long time ago. However, as she stared into her mother’s almond-shaped gray eyes, she had never been more aware of that fact. Paige was an Eberlee, and like the long line of family members before her, she was expected to become a doctor. She may have inherited her mother’s eyes, but other than looks, the two were total opposites.

“Well?” Paige’s mother prompted, raising her perfectly arched eyebrows at her daughter. The eyebrow raise never led to anything good.

It was dinnertime in the Eberlee household: a time Paige dreaded. It was a time when the whole noisy, competitive group of Eberlees gathered together and asked each other complicated medical questions. It was Paige’s turn to answer. She looked around at the whole rambunctious, square-faced lot of them, wracking her brain to figure out the chemical name for Flonase. Eventually, fearing a fit of impatience from one of her family members, she shrugged silently, pushing peas around her plate.

Her older brother Chester, a temperamental eighteen year old, swelled like a bullfrog in eagerness to get the question passed over to him. He was one point behind Kellie, Paige’s twenty-four year old sister, and was not pleased about it.

Paige’s mother’s face flickered with disappointment in her daughter, not for the first time, and she nodded at Chester.

“It’s called corticosteroid.” He answered smugly, and there was uproar at the table as the rest of the Eberlees either clapped or booed, depending on who they wanted to win this round. Pagie was the only one who kept quiet.

There were 6 Eberlee children in all, and all of them had their mother’s gray eyes and their father’s square face. However, the five children other than Paige all had something Paige did not have: the will to be a doctor.

Paige was torn from her thoughts when Kellie retook the lead. It sounded as though a small explosion went off in the house. Feet stomped, fists pounded, dishes rattled; it was bad enough to make the family cat go tearing from the room. After several seconds of this, Paige’s father stood up.

“All right! All right!! Kellie wins tonight’s round!” He boomed, his voice containing such force that it over powered the rest of the family. Her father booming was not uncommon. He was a formidable man with a hooked nose, a bushy mustache, and a square, chiseled face.

“Finally, the torture ends,” Paige muttered, only because she knew her words would be lost among the din of many Eberlees clearing their plates. She dumped her plate in the sink, and escaped to her room, shutting the door behind her with a sigh.

She loved her room because it was a constant reminder of what she loved to do: paint. The walls were a very pale blue, and one of the walls held a hand painted white rose, with a monarch butterfly perched on top. Tacked on those walls were various paintings Paige has done over the years. In the corner there was an easel with a half finished painting on it.

Paige sat down on her bed with a thump, scowling on the stethoscope that had miraculously found its way to her closet doorknob. Her parents seemed to think if she could constantly see it, it would suddenly become more appealing to her. It hadn’t worked so far, and it’s been sixteen years. Paige took a deep breath, reached for the phone, and dialed a familiar number.