| This page will be my story. I will try to update is as much as possible. If you like it, then email me. |
| Boy Crazy By: Meghan Marsh Author�s Note: A song that I heard recently with the title �Boy Crazy� inspired this story. I was compelled at that second to write something showing the different types of girls I grow up around and also who I am. Every character in the story is based on someone in real life (attitude and actions more that looks) but I will not say whom. If anyone I know personally is reading this, maybe THEY can figure it out. Chapter One (Lila Morgans) �Faithful� It was a hot day when I first saw him. He was washing a car with his shirt off, sweat glistening in the sun. I stared at his muscles as they rippled across his back, at his pecks as the flexed back and forth, and I could just hear his muffled grunt as he reached across the hood of the car with his sponge. He had tawny blonde hair that waved back from his forehead, one lock falling in a superman curl. He was fairly tanned, not so much on his legs as his arms. His calves were very well shaped, reminding me of my brother, who was a runner. Right about the time I noticed his butt, he looked over at me and waved. I blushed and wiggled my fingers back, then quickly scurried into my house. Of course I knew his last name, Freeman, but that�s because my dad told me when him and his family moved in a week ago. His parents were nice enough. The smiled and made small talk like most new neighbors did when my parents went to give them a �warm welcome�. I don�t know why I put up with my parents. They�re both in their early forties, which is totally fine. The problem comes in when you take into account that both my parents dress and act like they�re sixteen. Yeah, they still act like parents but they try to see things from �my point of view� so they can �punish me and praise me more accordingly�. It bugs me. A lot. All pretty much anyone that�s there age can do when they meet them is smile and nod. Of course my friends think my parents are the coolest in the world, and my two other sisters can't get enough of trying/succeeding in getting away with things. I think its kind of gross that they need to dress and act like me to see things like I do. My sisters are both younger than me (They�re thirteen, and eight), and they act about five years younger than they really are. Denisha, who�s thirteen, thinks she needs to wear makeup and a pushup bra, but still cries when she doesn�t get what she wants, or dumps sand in little kids hair when they make her mad. Fallon, who�s eight, doesn�t even try to act her age instead of acting three. She still wets the bed, she still cries when she has to go to sleep, and she still throws temper tantrums. I hate them both more than anything, and that�s why I was outside that particular day; I was just coming home from a weekend somewhere else besides home. When I got inside Fallon jumped on me and asked if she could have a cookie, and Denisha came running in crying because she poked her eye with the eyeliner. I sighed, then got Fallon her cookie, told Nisha to rinse her eye with cold water, and made it into my room without another word. |
 |
 |