Hey everyone it’s Kit (again! :)) and I’m going to post Part 2 for The Notebook. Are you excited? I know I’m nervous, but I’m also excited, too! Eeep! So here goes!
It’s five years later, but something is missing after what happened on The Day. I know I’m not hallucinating, but I wish I were. I can still remember the sirens on The Day that are now permanently etched in my mind. Whenever I think about what happened, I start to cry (even though I try not to). My family has moved onto a different life. Now I live in an orphanage. My family couldn’t cope with me anymore, so they sent me to this place. Mary’s Home For Children. Cheesy, isn’t it?
But who cares anymore? Not me. Not my so-called loving parents. Not Angelina’s cousin, Dylan. Especially not him.
“Melissa, are you there?”
“Ugh, it’s MEL! Not Melissa! I’ve been here for five years, and you still HAVE NOT gotten my name right! When are you people ever going to learn?” I shout.
“Because it is your NAME, Melissa. We want to use your full name; it is the only proper way,” she says. “She” is Mrs. Fratter, one of the maids. Mary’s Home (that’s what the orphans here call it. Not the teachers. Or the maids. Or anyone else who works here. It’s not the “proper” way to call it, they say) is separated into two parts. One is the girls’ part, the other is the boys’ part. There’s also a Mess Hall and a separate school.
“Anyway, before you so rudely interrupted me -you need to learn to control your temper- I wanted to ask you something. Did you eat breakfast yet?”
“No!” I yell back.
“Well stop writing in that notebook and get down to the Mess Hall!”
That’s what they call it. “That notebook”. Sigh. This is the notebook (along with so many others) that has gotten me through all these years without hallucinating and going crazy. I have been writing down all my notes, keeping all the 15-some notebooks Angelina and I made . . . Sigh. Right now I am in my dorm room that me and two other girls share. Their names are Raven and Bridget. They are the worst people you can meet. They try to steal my notebook ALL THE TIME. I’m not kidding. But it’s not as bad as what happened five years ago, I have to admit . . .
“Writing in that notebook again, are we?” Raven says nastily, her small nose scrunching up. (Again, what did I tell you. “That notebook” business!)
“Yeah, didn’t Mrs. Fratter tell you to get your fat butt downstairs?” Bridget sneers.
“Hmm, can’t get up by yourself? Ever hear of a diet plan?” Raven replies.
I get so sick of them that I have to get them back.
“Hey, are there two-year olds in the room? That is so low; commenting on people’s weight. But I just have to expect it from you two. It’s what you were born for, insulting people. I guess that’s why nobody loves you.” I say, pleased with myself and with a smirk on my face.
“Oh, you’re going to regret you said that, Melissa,” Bridget growls.
“Yeah, you better watch your back,” Raven says.
They sashay out of the room, confident of themselves. Yeah, what are you gonna do, cut my hair off? A spy’s appearance doesn’t matter, ha ha.
I run down the stairs to the Mess Hall. What’s today’s breakfast? I look at the “Daily Meal” sign.
Turkey and cheese
Red velvet cake
Woohoo. Oatmeal with raisins. Really, it’s gross. Well, at least there’s red velvet cake for dinner.
As I’m eating this stuff they call “food”, Ms. Katy, the chef, comes up to me.
“Melissa, how’s the food?”
Oh, it’s great, Ms. Katy!” I respond with forced enthusiasm.
“Good. I thought there was something off about the oatmeal, but I guess not!” she says.
Yeah actually, EVERYTHING is bad, Ms. Katy, ha ha. First, take out the raisins.
Anyway, when I finish, all the people are ordered to “Get to class!”. Immediately everyone pushes and practically tramples me down, so by the time everyone leaves I’m covered in dust. Ugh. Well, I look at my new schedule for the year, and I find that I have math first.
I don’t feel like going to math (I HATE math!); I feel like searching this place. I haven’t done this in years since The Day.
I go down the hallway, up the stairs, and into my room. I grab all of my spy equipment:
My spy wristwatch
Swiss Army Knife
And finally, I include my backpack to put all this stuff in and put a lock on it.
Hmm, where should I go? I guess the attic would be a good choice, because who would go up there?
I climb up the attic stairs, the Notebook in my back pocket. I finally get to the tall door that seperates me from the attic.
The door is a chocolate brown in color, and the edges are damaged from being opened and closed so many times. I try to open it, but it seems to be stuck. Sigh. I try again. And again. Finally, with a hard nudge, the door opens with a loud creak and I look around quickly to see if anyone’s around. I’m silent for a moment, listening for any footsteps around me. Nope.
I press into the small room and instantly a musty smell hits me in the face and flows through my nose. Ugh, gross. I pull out the Notebook and it instantly opens up to a fresh page for me to write on. I take out my pencil and begin to write.
Attic smells like moth balls and old newspaper. Small in size but overall a cozy sized room. Very humid, almost makes me sweat. Well, what do you know. Boxes, boxes, and more boxes. Some fairly new and some old and frayed. Inside a big cardboard box are some newspapers reviewing the orphanage. All good reviews. I wonder if Mary’s Home ever got a bad review. Think about that.
CREAK CREAK CREAK. I hear big feet stomping up the stairs and enter the attic.
“Who’s in here?!” someone booms.
* * *
Okay, that took like an hour to write! Hope you like it! 😉