Chapter 1: A Call from Mom
"Elara!" A voice echoed from downstairs.
"Yes, Mom?" I called back, half-heartedly.
"Come downstairs," she replied, her tone leaving little room for negotiation.
"No, Mom, I'm busy!" I shot back, hoping to buy myself a few more minutes of peace.
I am Elara Rain, a ten-year-old girl living in the small town of Willowbrook. I'm in the fifth standard, but when it comes to studies, I might as well be a first-grader. Well, that's not entirely true. I could study if I wanted to, but honestly, I just don't see the point. What's the use of memorizing facts and figures that I'll never need in real life? Apparently, my mom doesn't share my philosophy.
Although she never pressures me to excel, I can tell she's not thrilled with my performance. What can you expect when your mother is a teacher? Her disappointment hangs over me like a dark cloud, especially considering my parents divorced when I was three. I don't know much about my father's side of the family, and it's just been my mom and me for as long as I can remember.
"Come on, Elara! I don't care if you're busy; just come down here!"
I sighed, knowing I was running out of excuses. "Alright!" I finally relented.
I trudged down the stairs, my mind racing with possibilities about what could be wrong. My mom sat on the sofa, and I could tell by her expression that she was in a bad mood. That knot in my stomach tightened as I prepared for the worst.
"Your teacher called me just now," she said, cutting straight to the point.
My heart sank. I blinked, knowing exactly what this meant. Another complaint, probably about my behavior. "What did she say?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"She said you abused someone from a higher class," my mom replied, her voice calm but filled with an undercurrent of anger.
I bit my lip, suddenly feeling the weight of my actions. "Yeah, I did," I admitted. "But it wasn't my fault! He called my friend fatty first."
My mother's eyes widened in shock. She always hated it when I used slang or profanity. "Is this what I've taught you?" she asked, incredulous. "If he called your friend fatty, you should have reported him to the teacher! Why did you have to resort to name-calling?"
"Mom, it was his fault!" I protested. "He was being a jerk!"
"I don't care about his behavior; you need to apologize to him tomorrow!" my mother said firmly.
"I won't! It's not my fault, so why should I?" I shot back defiantly.
"Shut up!" My mom's voice raised, echoing in the small house. "You don't study, and you're not even well-mannered. It's wonderful that you're my child," she said sarcastically, her disappointment cutting through me like a knife.
"Mom, what does this have to do with my studies?" I asked, trying to shift the focus back to the real issue.
"Your teacher also told me that tomorrow she is going to show you your papers from the half-yearly exam, and you've done extremely poorly."
I was stunned into silence. This time, it wasn't just my behavior she was upset about; it was my grades. I had known I hadn't done well, but hearing it from my mom made it all too real. I had done something worse than just failing—I had let her down.
After a moment of silence, my mother took a deep breath, clearly trying to regain her composure. "You go upstairs and pack your school bag for tomorrow," she instructed. "We will talk about this again after your papers are shown."
Feeling defeated, I nodded and quietly made my way back to my room. I closed the door behind me and collapsed onto my bed, burying my face in the pillows. I groaned, knowing that my mom would be even angrier when she saw my marks.
Thoughts swirled in my mind like a storm. I knew I should be more like other kids who cared about school, but I just couldn't find the motivation. I hated how serious some of my classmates were, especially that Alaric Vale. He was the perfect student, the teacher's pet. I couldn't stand him. He acted like he was better than everyone else, always sitting at the front, always raising his hand to answer questions. What made him so special?
I wanted to have fun, to enjoy my childhood, not to be stuck in a never-ending cycle of lectures and disappointment. But part of me knew my mom was just trying to look out for me, wanting the best for her only child.
But did it really have to be like this? I loved making friends and being the center of attention, which I often was at school. My classmates admired my carefree spirit, but it all seemed overshadowed by my academic failures. I wanted to be known for more than just my antics.
With a heavy sigh, I pulled myself up from the bed and began to pack my school bag for the next day. The bright blue backpack seemed so heavy, weighing me down with the knowledge of what was to come. I tossed in my books, half-heartedly shoving them in without much thought.
What if I failed my exams again? What if I didn't get to hang out with my friends anymore? My mind raced with anxiety, and I couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom. I knew my mom would want to talk about my grades in detail, and I was already dreading the conversation.
After what felt like hours, I finished packing my bag and slumped back onto my bed. I turned to my side and stared out the window. The moon hung high in the sky, casting a gentle glow over Willowbrook. It was beautiful, peaceful, and a world away from my troubles.
In that moment, I wished for an escape—a way to forget about school, grades, and the pressure of living up to everyone's expectations. I closed my eyes, imagining myself running through a field, away from my worries, with nothing but the wind in my hair and the laughter of my friends around me.
But for now, I had to face the music. I would have to go to school tomorrow, sit through the humiliation of showing my papers to my mom, and listen to her lecture about how I could do better.
Maybe I would have to apologize to that boy too, even if I didn't want to. But deep down, I knew that if I wanted to change things, I had to take responsibility for my actions. The thought weighed heavily on me as I drifted off to sleep, hoping that tomorrow would somehow be different.
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