Young Annabelle Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Young Annabelle (Y.A, #1)

  By

  Sarah Tork

  Other eBooks by Sarah Tork

  Always Wanted (Xander Barns, #1)

  Wanted Always (Xander Barns, #2)

  Young Annabelle (Y.A, #1)

  By: Sarah Tork

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright ©2013 Sarah Tork

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover design by Robin Ludwig Design Inc.,http://www.gobookcoverdesign.comImages From: http://www.dreamstime.com/

  Editor: Http://www.AndrianaEditing.ca

  Chapter 1

  Friday September 7th 2012

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Oh you know, the usual things. Multiple personalities, homicidal daydreaming, cross-dressing as our evil History teacher… You know, the normal everyday stuff.” Jenna, my best friend, sighed as she lay comfortably on her bed.

  Since her fat ass greedily occupied the entire bed, I was forced to sit on her green shag carpet with my back against her twin-sized bed frame. I leaned my head onto her mattress and twisted it so she could see me. I narrowed my eyes at her as she gave me an innocent ‘What?’ look.

  “Screw you! You’re worse than I am,” I told her, lifting my head to stare at her bedroom door.

  “Anna?” Her voice suddenly changed from humorous to concerned.

  We’d come to her house right after school because of what had happened.

  We’d been dancing around the subject since we’d arrived. It was good while it lasted. I took a long, deep breath as I savored the last bit of ignorance I was allowed. Jenna was going to bring up what happened at school today, no matter what. I had no problem pretending it didn’t happen.

  Like she’d let that happen!

  “Yeah?” I responded quietly, continuing to stare straight ahead.

  “You okay?”

  Was I okay? I searched my body to see where I was emotionally. There was nothing. My entire body felt as if both my heart and brain had checked out on purpose, all so that I wouldn’t fall over and cry like a blubbering idiot whose soul was just crushed.

  “I’m not really feeling anything,” I replied.

  “You’re feeling numb, aren’t you? I’d be a total mess if that happened to me. I’d feel humiliated and disrespected,” she rambled dramatically, still gazing at her ceiling.

  I leaned my head back down onto her mattress and joined her in examining the ceiling.

  Jenna’s ceiling was something amazing. Last year her parents let her paint her room any way she wanted. The first thing she painted was a glow amidst a dark sky, with a million stars and comets scattered around. I’d been over for plenty of sleepovers since then. Adding chill music, the shadow of night, and the peace of mind we both shared; those were some good nights.

  I stared up at the collection of stars and wished the sun away so that we could draw the blinds, shut the lights off, and allow our minds to transport us across the sky that we were now only staring at.

  I’d take fake sky either way.

  “You ready to talk about it?” Jenna whispered.

  I took a long gulp, cleared my throat, then slowly exhaled the strangling air as I prepared to speak.

  “What’s there to talk about? I was rejected, again! Simple!” My frustration exploded. Her constant nagging to talk about it got the best of me. I didn’t want to talk about this shit. I didn't want to remember it. I wanted to forget it ever happened. And I couldn't do that if she kept freaking bringing it up every two seconds.

  “It was not simple!” she snapped back, shuffling about on the bedspread, trying to contain her own anger about the whole situation. Her hostility, funnily enough, tugged at my heartstrings.

  That’s what good friends are for; you feel pain, they feel pain. I shook my head thinking about that. I didn’t want her to feel bad; it wasn’t her problem.

  “Jenna, please, just forget whatever you saw earlier, okay?” I pleaded.

  Jenna suddenly jerked herself up into a sitting position, her leg hitting the side of my head.

  “Hey watch it!” I yelped in pain.

  “No! I will not forget anything. That douche could have told you ‘no’ in a more respectful way, he didn't have to humiliate you in front of everyone!” she yelled as she slammed her fists into her bed.

  “Well it is what it is,” I said lifelessly. “And technically the only person he humiliated me in front of was you.” This conversation was absorbing the last ounces of life I had left in me.

  “Oh my god, who the hell does James Lassles think he is! That ass douche! Just wait ’til school on Monday, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind in front of everyone!” she declared even louder.

  I looked behind me and her arms were straight up, pointing at the sky.

  “Jenna! Calm down!” I ordered. I hoped to God that she wouldn’t do anything to make me feel even worse. “The feelings, the stupid situation, it’ll all be over by Monday. You don’t need to show anyone anything.”

  “Yeah, okay, we’ll see,” she said a touch quieter.

  My stomach knotted. I knew this girl better than she knew herself.

  I looked at her and was gifted with another innocent ‘What?’ face. I shook my head, desperately trying to enforce some ground control in this matter, since it was about me. But she just shrugged and lay back down.

  Great, just great. With Jenna, ‘we'll see’ meant ‘that’s for damn sure.’ Now, Monday would definitely be a day I wouldn’t be looking forward to – at all.

  Hmmm, maybe suddenly I’ll be infected with a virus and have to stay home on Monday? Or a rash! Nobody wants you around if you've got a rash. But, dammit, I don't know what poison ivy looks like. How else am I going to get a rash?

  *****

  Monday appeared in a blink of an eye. I awoke with a blistering headache. I pulled back my red plaid covers and swung my legs out of bed. A jolt surged through me as my feet hit the cold, wooden floor; it brought me back to Earth, reminding me that the day could go one of two ways, both of which were up to Jenna. With the modicum of morning strength I possessed, I pushed up off my bed and headed straight for the bathroom across the hall where my scale was patiently awaiting me.

  Five minutes later…

  “ANNABELLE!”

  I dropped my toothbrush back into its holder and went to the doorway, bypassing the mean machine, its numbered face glaring up at me from the floor.

  “I’m not ready, Mom!” I yelled down the hallway before returning to my room.

  “You’re going to be late! Hurry!” I heard her yell creep up the hallway and through my door.

  She wants her daily number for that stupid book she carries around!

&n
bsp; I stood in front of my floor-length mirror and examined how my red pajamas with the purple hearts looked on my body. They were old and not my size. My mother had bought them over a year ago in the hopes that they’d fit one day. I wasn’t there yet, much to her disappointment.

  Just a little tight around the hips.

  “Yeah, whatever. It is what it is,” I declared to my reflection in a hushed tone.

  I turned around and opened up my closet. Today was definitely not the day to look like shit. Determined to find an amazing outfit, I sorted through my selection and pulled multiple things out. I laid them out on my bed and took a step back to observe. I had to make the right decision.

  I picked up my dark blue skinny jeans and the tight red-and-black vertical striped shirt that fell just over my hips. I quickly changed then returned to the mirror for examination.

  Not bad.

  I scooped up the creamy white zippered hoodie and slipped it on. There was no way Mom would let me walk out of the house in a shirt as tight as the one I was wearing.

  It’s a little slutty, wouldn’t you rather look like a lady? I mimicked Mom’s voice in my head as I grabbed my backpack and hoisted it onto my right shoulder, shutting my bedroom door behind me.

  Yeah right. It has nothing to do with looking slutty! I thought, descending the stairs to join the rest of my family for breakfast.

  Half an hour later I left the house. The weather hadn’t been too hot that morning; usually early mornings here weren’t that bad. But ‘that bad’ didn’t last the entire trip to school and I had to unzip my white sweater to let my skin breathe a little.

  I couldn’t show up to school looking like a sweaty pig.

  I lived with my family in Orlando, Florida, where it was scorchingly hot every day except when it poured rain. I walked three miles to school, my parents only willing to drive me when it rained. Driving me to school was not something my parents wanted to do; even when it rained they did it under duress.

  I enjoyed walking though. It gave me time to think while burning off the calories from breakfast. Jenna was model-skinny; she didn’t need to burn calories so her parents willingly drove her everywhere. My parents had been getting increasingly frustrated if I asked to be driven anywhere that wasn’t extremely far away. So I didn’t ask.

  Every single day for the past few months, my parents would ask me how many calories I’ve burnt. This ritual usually took place before dinner and, depending on the number from my calorie counting watch, it would determine the types of glances I would have to endure during dinner. If the number was high enough, I wouldn’t have to worry too much about their angry looks when I scooped an extra inch of rice on my plate – I’d earned it. If the number wasn’t up to their expectations, then I had better take half the amount of food I normally would. I had to make up for it somehow and, in my parents’ eyes, less food on my plate was how.

  My hunger pains always got the better of me, especially at night when everyone went to sleep. Maybe that was why I’d only managed to lose ten pounds so far. The disappointment my parents felt about my slow weight loss roamed freely in our household and was a topic we all discussed regularly.

  My mother yearned to take me shopping for new smaller-sized clothing, but I’d been wearing the same size ten since the beginning of the school year. Unfortunately for her, the weight I’d managed to lose wasn’t enough to strip my wardrobe clean and refill with single-digit sizes. I needed to lose another ten pounds to do that.

  I wasn’t fat, but I wasn’t small either. At 5’7” and weighing 165 pounds, I carried most of the weight around my belly and thighs. Aside from these two unfortunate places, there was one other place where the weight gathered – my boobs.

  But the excess in that area wasn’t as much of a problem as the other areas, especially after my neck lost some flab and gained definition. My boobs became a more noticeable, desirable, part of my body instead of one giant blob with a head on top. Once that happened, a certain level of confidence took over inside of me and I began to wear tighter tops to school – always covered before leaving the house to avoid Mom shaking her head in disbelief, of course.

  Mom’s silent looks spoke volumes when I dared to wear something slightly tighter than usual. I knew she thought larger girls should stick with clothes that didn’t cling to their bodies; nobody wanted to see all that skin wiggle back and forth.

  But my skin didn’t jiggle like crazy. I just had a larger than average belly in front, some love handles that tipped over the edge of my skinny jeans (which she didn’t approve of either but I’d fought her on them and won). But all of that, in her eyes and now my dad’s, placed me in the same category as girls who were extremely obese. They tried to make me believe I was the same as a 250-pound girl in an effort to scare me into losing the weight faster. Big girls shouldn’t wear tight tops or skinny jeans.

  If you want to wear the clothes teenagers wear then you'd better lose the weight first. Do you want to look ridiculous? Do you want everyone to laugh at you? Nobody wants to see that!

  In their eyes, the issue was simple: if you ever became fat you’d better make sure you lost the weight just as fast. Exercise more, eat half as much, and take responsibility for your actions. Continuing to embarrass yourself in public was inexcusable and an insult to the entire family. It was all so simple.

  Well, it wasn’t simple and as much as I wanted to lose all the weight, to make them happy and get them off my back once and for all, I couldn’t. I was hungry all the time.

  I grabbed my backpack and swung it around to hang on my front. I unzipped a hidden compartment in the bottom, pulling out a small plastic bag full of pretzels and chips.

  Aside from telling my parents how many calories I burned every day, I also had to tell them my weight each morning before breakfast. Today, I was forced to eat less breakfast because I failed to gain or lose any weight. They weren’t happy with my numbers and decided that ‘Anna Banana’ could only have half a bowl of flax seed-and-twigs cereal with a quarter cup of skim milk.

  The milk made her eyes practically bulge! I smiled to myself as I remembered Mom’s face when I began pouring the milk.

  I was starving.

  Fifteen minutes into the trek to school, I felt I was a safe enough distance from my house that I could finally pull out my emergency stash.

  I need fuel!

  My mouth was salivating before the first chip-pretzel combination emerged from the baggie. As it hit my tongue, my teeth crunched the salty goodness – it felt like a thousand fireworks ignited inside me. It wasn’t healthy, nourishing food, but it hit the spot. I felt the salt rush in my bloodstream, sending a buzz through my entire body. The horrible mood my parents inflicted on me earlier slowly disappeared as each morsel of goodness made its way down to my belly.

  What could I say? I liked to eat. But I clearly understood something early on: I was nowhere near the same league as 250-pound girls who also liked to eat. Those girls’ hunger was definitely not the same as mine. I simply didn’t get the crap my parents were spewing out.

  And I probably never would.

  Soon, it wouldn’t matter what they thought.

  I was a senior at Royal Heights High School. In eight months I’d be graduating and moving out. Technically I could move on April 3rd, when I turned eighteen, but I thought I would give my parents this one last thing before I evaporated from their lives completely. They won’t even know I’ve left until they come home to my empty room. My younger siblings, Charles and Katherine, thirteen and eleven respectively, were also being kept in the dark about my plans. They had big mouths and were child versions of my parents – who loved and adored them – they shared the ‘fat is bad’ mentality.

  Not much longer.

  My walk was coming to end; the mountainous school was within sight.

  Last Friday, Jenna had made some crazy promises that I hoped she would forget by the time today came. I didn’t need that crap; if anything exploded today, she’d ruin everything.
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  I arrived to school fifteen minutes earlier than usual; there was no one around. I stopped in front of the long set of concrete stairs that led up to the front entrance. I stared up to the landing at the top and noticed a guy sitting alone.

  Well look who came to talk!

  I skipped the first two steps and ran the rest of the way up. I had to slow down halfway. Perhaps trying to run the entire way was a bit too ambitious for my physical state. I never understood why the city decided to build a school on top of a hill. There were stairs everywhere and, despite my unfortunate heaviness, my legs were strong from going up and down multiple times during the day. My legs were fine; it was controlling my breathing that I had a problem with.

  I crossed the last step and hit the flat concrete patio. Sitting on the edge of the planter by the door was supposed to be ‘my man’. Lately he’d been more like a stranger than a ‘boyfriend’. The odd thing was, he was waiting for me. Fifteen minutes early. After so much time, he decided he finally wanted to talk.

  “Fireball,” he said, grinning down at me as I approached. That grin again! He thought he could use the grin and I’d come running back like the girl I was last summer!

  Dare to believe!

  “James,” I replied, emotionless.

  His grin quickly evaporated. His mouth turned into a scowl as he grabbed his backpack and gracefully pushed himself off the ledge on to the concrete patio.

  “Where’s my morning kiss, Fireball?” James demanded, taking long strides and coming to a stop right in front of me.

  I stood still. This guy wasn’t going to get anything of value from me.

  How about NO!

  Suddenly, his arms wrapped around my waist and I was lifted off the ground. His warm, sweet lips crashed down onto mine and we were back in our secret little world that we’d been playing in since August.