The Outsiders And Me

Chapter One

Adele Robinson

"Get up, brat!" I heard a voice yell. I pulled the covers over my head. Big mistake. The covers were yanked from me and I shivered. Then my cheek began to sting. My eyes snapped open just in time to see my dad's fist collide with my face. He hit me so hard that I fell off of the bed. "Next time wake up when I tell you to!" he yelled before storming out of my room. I didn't react. If I did, things would only get worse.
I looked around. My room was plain with white walls and a dark wooden floor. My bed was twin sized and it sat in a corner with brown covers. The only thing that I owned was a sketch book, which was hidden underneath my mattress. With the image of my father still fresh in my mind, I took out my sketch book and began to draw him. When I finished, I looked at my artwork. My dad was standing tall, his arm wound back as he prepared to punch a cowering girl at his feet. Me. Most of my drawings looked like this.
Putting my sketch book in my book bag, I went to look at myself in the mirror that was connected to my dresser. The skin around my eye was purple, which stood out against the paleness of my face. My pale green eyes looked fearful and broken. Wavy brown hair with streaks of honey came a few inches past my shoulders. I was a bit short, about 5"4.
"Addie?" I turned around to see Bambi, my eight year old sister, looking at me, her eyes brimming with tears. Crap. I let her see my black eye.
Hey, it's okay. I'm okay. We're okay." She ran up to me and buried her face into my stomach since she was so short. She began crying and I picked her up and sat her on the edge of my bed.
When Bambi quieted, I gave her a hug.
"You feel better?" She nodded and looked at me with big brown eyes. While I took after our father, Bambi took after our mother. They both had the same eyes and red-brown hair. The only reason I knew of this was because of a picture of her that our dad owned. When I was eight and Bambi was just a few days old, our mother left, saying that she couldn't be with our father any longer because of his cruelty. She didn't even name her baby. I named her and cared for her. I was practically her mother.
"We have to go to school." I say. We hadn't even taken showers yet. "Why don't you go look for an outfit while I take my shower?" I said, looking at her. All she had on was a pink gown. Her bare feet made slapping noises against the wood floor as she ran off to her room.
After completing a series of morning duties I ran downstairs dressed in a plain blue shirt, black skinny jeans, and some white tennis shoes. Grabbing my green and black book bag, I opened the fridge and took out the lunch that I packed for Bambi the night before.
She came downstairs in a blue dress and white church shoes. I handed it to her and we headed out of the house in a rush to avoid our father. Walking Bambi to the bus stop was something I did everyday. I never let her out of my sight because the last time I did, my father hit her. "Bye Bambi." I said as her bus came.

As soon as the bus left, I walked to school, which was five blocks away. Hampton High was a public school. Most think it's a bad place, but it's not. It's the students. I get a really good education there, but not without a price. I get made fun of all the time. People push me around and beat me up. And I let them. That's what Makayla was for. She's my best friend and didn't let things escalate between me and other students.
So when I went to class, Makayla was waiting for me. "Hey girl!" she said, running a dark hand through her micro braids. Her eyes went to the bruises on my face but said nothing. Makayla agreed not to tell anyone about my dad. But when she talked she seemed overly happy, which was meant something bad had either happened or is going to.
"What's wrong?" I asked as I sat down next to her at our desks. Our teacher wasn't here yet so everyone was talking. "Nothing's wrong!" she said quickly. She was lying.