The Sketchpad

Avalanche

Alex pushed her bedroom door, white with green and black flower stickers from 3rd grade, open, revealing her bedroom. It consisted of a twin bed with black-and-pink lace designs on the comforter and pillows, a dresser and vanity that had papers, makeup, and lip balms spread haphazardly on the surface in front of the large, smudged mirror, a cluttered closet with mountains of junk that can't even be described, and a black desk with a single thing on it; a black hard-cover sketchbook. This was the only clean surface in the room, and it was there that Alex went when she entered her room. 

She plopped down into the rolling office chair that sat in front and opened a small drawer in the front of the desk, taking out a thin pencil case that held a pen, a few charcoal pencils, and some outline and detail markers. She then grabbed the sketchbook in the same hand and set them both in her lap, smiling faintly. 

Apparently satisfied, Alex spun the chair around and pushed off, sending the wheels of the chair squealing along the wooden floor as it shot across the room to the closet.

She surveyed the mess quietly, and after about ten seconds a gleam of recognition glinted in her eye. She cautiously reached into the jumble, careful not to disturb anything in the precarious pile, and yanked something out of the mess. 

"Ah!" Alex yelped as the northern-most peak turned into a landslide of papers, books, plastic water-bottles, stuffed animals, various types of clothing, and other miscellaneous things, transforming the mountain of trash into a sea across the floor of her bedroom. Her office chair was nearly knocked over, and she spun in a circle in the chair, stopping facing the wall. Hordes of miscellaneous things cluttered the floor, covering it in a layer of unused toys and trash.

Alex made a pouty face. "Come onnnnn," she groaned. "I don't have time for this." She glanced up at the clock. It read 4:55. Youth group started at 5:00.

Alex looked from the clock to the mess and back again. "Um..." she bit her lip, trying to decide whether to be late or leave a mess behind. She hated the thought of leaving her room looking like this, but she needed to get to youth group today. Torn, she decided to leave and clean up later. 

She gripped her sketchpad, the pouch of drawing supplies, and a mechanical pencil she had pulled out of the rubble, taking one last look at the mess and striding out the door. No matter how much she wanted to stay and clean up, there was a reason she wanted to go to youth group. And that reason was named Eli.