MISSING PERSON(S)

MISSING PERSON(S)-   Draft #4

Chapter One-Thursday, 5:30 am

                Most people at my school would think I’d be the sort of brown-nosing goody-two-shoes that would rise, kiss the sun good morning and skip off to school to breeze through my studies.

            No way.

            Not me.

            I dread waking.

            When that buzzing alarm went off at 5:30 in the morning, I just about burst into tears at the thought of starting another day in the life of LeLani Baker.

            I curled into a ball and groaned, praying this was only a nightmarish manifestation of my own mind. But no, that stupid, obnoxious alarm seemed to get louder, saying Get up, Lani! Get up Lani! GET UP, LANI!

            I threw my thin, quilted covers off my body and launched into the almost automatic routine of my day. I showered, in such a zombie like state I almost didn’t feel the cold water pounding against my skin. Then I went back to my room, dripping, shaking, shivering.

            Well, not my room. The room I shared with my poor little sister. I say poor only because our parents wouldn’t pay us enough attention to drive her to school, so I had to walk her to school at o-dark-in-the-morning, long before her school even opened. That early of a walk, was enough to give you frostbite in early fall.

            Our room was nothing much; Very small, maybe twelve feet by twelve feet, with a big window taking up most of the far wall. The screen was torn from when I would stick my head out the window as a little girl, on hot summer nights, before Shannon was even born. The latch always stuck, with enough dirt built up around it to put an ant farm to shame. There were two creaky beds, little more than mattresses on the floor covered in itchy quilts. One with little blue squares for me, a pink one for Shannon, who was still nestled up in hers, like a comatose angel. She’d gotten pretty used to sleeping through me in the morning. Heck, if she had too, she could adapt to sleep through a freight train or a bullhorn.

            Still, as I got dressed and ready for school, I tried not to wake her. I personally believed that our lives were at their high point when we were asleep.

            When my flat gray-brown hair was straightened and my backpack was overstuffed with the books I needed that day, I kneeled on our forever stained shag carpet next to Shannon’s bed.

            “Shannon,” I poked at her shoulder, and she rolled over and groaned. “Come on, Shannon, wakey-wakey,” I pulled her up by the shoulders. Her eyes were still closed, but she was sitting up.

            I got Shannon dressed and led her into our dinky little kitchen, which was just a small extension of our living room, with a fridge, microwave, stove, and table, squashing whoever entered up against the counter. In three minutes, we had our blueberry waffles, still a little cold from being frozen, but it wasn’t like we could actually taste them this early in the morning. We sat at the table in silence, making our chewing seem irritatingly loud. Gale, our stepdad, had already left for his job as an attorney, and our mom, Phillipa, had left for her work at the maid service.

            I never called them mom or dad. Parents are supposed to take care of you, but Gale and Phillipa certainly did not. It’s beyond me how Phillipa got custody over us.

            It’s beyond me how Jeff didn’t.

            My mom lost her job months before her divorce to my dad, Jeff. It wasn’t until long after the custody battle that she found a job, so our electricity was out for at least a month. But, the court usually favors the mother.