I am Fire

1: "I Think Jesus Was Paying Me Back For The Stache I Drew On His Face"

"Waarom ga je niet je neus in het toilet steken?!"

"Waarom kan je niet meer zijn zo als je zus?! Tenminste krijgt ze fatsoenlijke examenresultaten en komt niet in de problemen met de school!"

"Oh, ja! Naomi is echt perfect! Dat is ook waarom ze een 5 in geografie kreeg!"

Dig the sarcasm, Mario, I thought.

"Krijg een 6 in een onderwerp en dan praten we!"

Listening to this shouting from the neighbours, I sighed in annoyance, looked at the time, saw that it was nine in the evening and slammed my head on the desk in frustration, doing a massive facebook (get it, facebook, Facebook!) on my Ancient Greek sources book. The van de Meer family were lovely people but they really had the crappest timing, especially when it came to family arguments, which now occurred in the mornings and evenings daily; it really did not help that the walls were almost paper thin and every word they said we could hear and vice versa. I was so thankful my parents were lenient with my troublemaking. I usually did not need to tell Mama or Papa to stick their nose in the toilet like Mario and they did not need to tell me to be more like my sister because a) I am an only child and b) even though I am my school's greatest rebel, I still get good grades.

Sleepily, I lift my head from my Ancient Greek book, let out an enormous sigh and finished the rest of my Vlaae that Papa had made especially just for our family. Vlaae is my guilty pleasure, and my father's Vlaae were the best in Beek, Limburg but I really needed to get to sleep and the sugar really was not helping as I was prone to becoming hyperactive quite quickly on sugar. It was quite ridiculous; I am able to go loopy on one sip of Coca Cola and a few Haribos. But I guess I shouldn't make too much of an issue out of it as I am constantly on high alert, and that isn't a joke. On more than on one occasion did I question whether or not I did not have an attention deficit; I find it incredibly difficult to stay in one place for more than maybe five minutes before I get jumpy.

Knock! Knock!

I practically jumped out of my skin at these two sharp knocks; well, I actually jumped out of my desk chair and onto my feet, spilling the rest of my ice tea onto the floor in the process. See? I have a bit of a problem.

Mama stuck her head around the door. "Still revising?" she said.

"Homework and revision," I answered. "Dutch, English, Maths, Latin and Ancient Greek homework is due tomorrow. The latter I have not yet finished."

Mama nodded. "Just don't go to bed late. I really wish Annika would stop her husband and son from waking the rest of the neighbourhood."

I grinned. "I don't think Mrs. Spronk would care even if she could hear them!"

"Valyn!" Mama said, trying to sound stern but she was trying to stop herself from cracking up. The best thing about my mother: she had the sense of humour that could rival that of Michael McIntyre, Hugh Dennis and the Weasley twins.

I think that by now, you've realised that Mama is English, not Dutch. In fact, it's a good thing the Dutch are natural English speakers because if they had not been, my mother would never have moved to Holland, married my father and then a year or two after their union, adopted me.

Yep, I know it should have been obvious from the get-go but I, Valyn Mesman, am adopted. No one needed to tell me; from the age of five onwards, it became pretty downright obvious to me that I am not Alicia and Henrik Mesman's biological daughter. I have more than enough evidence for it.

1). My parents both have bright blue eyes. Papa has Capri blue and Mama has cobalt blue. Now I am only an 8 in Biology but even I know that Capri blue and cobalt blue do not come together to make a colour that's between light Siam and topaz. None of the family members on both sides have my colour eyes; none of them. I didn't need to ask.