My name is Hailey Elizabeth Maria Carter, but don't worry, it's not like people call me that every day. I go around by the name Poppy, yes, like the flower, but not any kind of flower. My mother's favourite flower. She used to say that giving pet names was a sign of love and affection and people that had pet names could show the rest of the world that they were loved. I find that statement true, because my mother loved me like no other mother would have loved their only daughter. Until the day she slowly passed away from her sickness that was eating her every single bone while waiting for her last heart beat.
She died of breast cancer, I was eight.
My father and I sold the house after a few months; we both couldn't live with my mother's perfume and imaginary presence imprinted in every single room any longer, especially her big painting room. My father had nightmares almost every night sleeping in the same bed they used to sleep in, and with an eight year old daughter that didn't fully understand the concept of death, it was hard to cope.
Not wanting to quit his job or demand his daughter to change school, we only moved a few blocks away, just too clear the air and have a fresh start.
I'm now sixteen, almost seventeen at the end of august, my father and I are both healthy and going even though he can be a little bit freakishly overprotective, and me being in the middle of my rebellious teenage years, we get along pretty well, we kind of have to.
"Poppy, how many times do I have to tell you to hurry up, I've got a meeting at eight thirty with a patient!" he said while throwing his files into his bag and putting on his doctor badge 'Doctor Carter, PhD.', he was the one that helped my mother through her cancer, at least tried, I always think he has some moments of guilt at night. "If you don't want to take the bus for your first school day, then finish your cereal".
After putting on my perfume and stuffing my Prada bag with empty notebooks and pencil cases we rushed out of the house to get into the car.
"Hey Dad, what did one volcano say to the other?" I asked trying to break the silence; I always try to get my father to relax in the morning when his stress level is at its peak.
"Not now Poppy" he responded and answered his phone, "Doctor Carter here speaking...yes I am terribly sorry...yes I am coming right after dropping my daughter off at school...okay" he hung up with a sigh. Sometimes I feel like he's a work-a-holic, I still fall asleep on the couch watching friends at 1 am waiting for him to get home, and when he finally gets home he doesn't even whisper goodnight, he locks himself in his room, depending on if he had a good day or not.
"Sorry" he replied irritated, "What were you saying?"
"Never mind" I disappointedly looked out of the window. Thank god we were here.
"Get good grades"
"Save a life" And then I slammed the door shut to let him drive off. I felt two cold hands cover my eyes and I immediately giggled.
"Guess who?"
"Jules!" I screamed from the top of my lungs and turned around to give her the biggest hug. Julia and I had been best friends from the day I taught her to write the 'J' in Julia in first grade and afterwards kicking Derek Homes in the nuts for throwing his first curse word at us, such good memories.
"Poppy! How was your summer in Italy?" and then we chattered the whole way to first period and met up with Chuck, that we call Chuck Bass to annoy the crap out of him (he honestly hates the Gossip Girl series and does not take it as a compliment), but having to separate as the bell rang at eight thirty.
