Never Lost (part 1 - Never Lost Series )
A short story
By
Riley Moreno
Copyright © 2012 Riley Moreno
http://rileymoreno.blogspot.com
Cover art by Riley Moreno
Kindle Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy (unless it was on a free promo). Many thanks for supporting the hard work of this author.
I awake to the cold. No surprise there. I’ve been cold all night. There’s a crack between the pane and the sill of the window across from my bed where the chilly fall air is allowed to seep in. I’m huddled here beneath the covers like a freaking Eskimo, fully dressed in my warmest hoodie, two pairs of socks, and my comfiest jeggings. The quilt on the bed smells musty. Everything in the room smells musty.
I miss my old home, my old familiar room with its effective windows and warm carpeting and the stupid murals my friends and I hand-painted on the walls the summer we were twelve—ridiculous portraits of boys we liked, and smiley faces and cute little animals. I liked the lopsided yellow duck the best. But now he’s gone, left behind. And I’m here in this horrible farmhouse smack in the middle of nowhere.
“Harper!” Mom’s voice cuts through the air, finding its way into my hellhole of a new room and banishing any thoughts of additional sleeping from my mind. “Breakfast!” she shrills.
“Coming!” I return. Muttering under my breath, I peel myself off the lumpy old mattress. I can hardly wait to set up my bed from home in here. The four-poster contraption I’ve been forced to sleep on the past couple of nights looks dangerously close to caving in.
In the bathroom, I splash some cold water on my face, brush my teeth, and smooth on deodorant. I reason that I’m already dressed, so there’s no point in changing. I’ve even got a bra on under the clothes I slept in . I drag a pick through my long mane of wild chestnut curls, frowning at my reflection in the mirror. I look like a ghost, my fair skin paler than ever, dark circles ringing my blue eyes. Gross.
A little makeup does the trick, mascara brightening my eyes and blusher detracting from the pallor of my skin. Halfway satisfied, I smear on some lip gloss and plod downstairs.
Mom and Uncle Lenny are at the kitchen table, drinking coffee, and my seventeen-year-old brother Chase, a year older than I am, is parked on the cracked Formica countertop, his cell phone wedged between his ear and shoulder. He doesn’t look any happier than I am, and right this moment, he’s filling his girlfriend Monica in on how much it sucks to be here. (I can tell Mom’s doing her best to tune him out.) Outwardly, Chase is pretty much the male version of me: same fair skin, blue eyes, wild dark curls. And inwardly, I guess we’re similar too—similar enough, at least, to get along most of the time.
I give him a little finger wave and a sympathetic glance before pouring myself a cup of coffee and joining Mom and Uncle Lenny at the table.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Mom says extra-chipperly. She slides a platter of bacon across the table toward me, obviously forgetting, in all of her enthusiasm, that I don’t eat red meat.
I cock an eyebrow at her. “Sunshine?”
Mom laughs, and so does Uncle Lenny. I take a still-warm buttermilk biscuit from a large bowl and slather it with jelly, then slide an egg onto my plate, along with a few apple slices.
A short story
By
Riley Moreno
Copyright © 2012 Riley Moreno
http://rileymoreno.blogspot.com
Cover art by Riley Moreno
Kindle Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy (unless it was on a free promo). Many thanks for supporting the hard work of this author.
I awake to the cold. No surprise there. I’ve been cold all night. There’s a crack between the pane and the sill of the window across from my bed where the chilly fall air is allowed to seep in. I’m huddled here beneath the covers like a freaking Eskimo, fully dressed in my warmest hoodie, two pairs of socks, and my comfiest jeggings. The quilt on the bed smells musty. Everything in the room smells musty.
I miss my old home, my old familiar room with its effective windows and warm carpeting and the stupid murals my friends and I hand-painted on the walls the summer we were twelve—ridiculous portraits of boys we liked, and smiley faces and cute little animals. I liked the lopsided yellow duck the best. But now he’s gone, left behind. And I’m here in this horrible farmhouse smack in the middle of nowhere.
“Harper!” Mom’s voice cuts through the air, finding its way into my hellhole of a new room and banishing any thoughts of additional sleeping from my mind. “Breakfast!” she shrills.
“Coming!” I return. Muttering under my breath, I peel myself off the lumpy old mattress. I can hardly wait to set up my bed from home in here. The four-poster contraption I’ve been forced to sleep on the past couple of nights looks dangerously close to caving in.
In the bathroom, I splash some cold water on my face, brush my teeth, and smooth on deodorant. I reason that I’m already dressed, so there’s no point in changing. I’ve even got a bra on under the clothes I slept in . I drag a pick through my long mane of wild chestnut curls, frowning at my reflection in the mirror. I look like a ghost, my fair skin paler than ever, dark circles ringing my blue eyes. Gross.
A little makeup does the trick, mascara brightening my eyes and blusher detracting from the pallor of my skin. Halfway satisfied, I smear on some lip gloss and plod downstairs.
Mom and Uncle Lenny are at the kitchen table, drinking coffee, and my seventeen-year-old brother Chase, a year older than I am, is parked on the cracked Formica countertop, his cell phone wedged between his ear and shoulder. He doesn’t look any happier than I am, and right this moment, he’s filling his girlfriend Monica in on how much it sucks to be here. (I can tell Mom’s doing her best to tune him out.) Outwardly, Chase is pretty much the male version of me: same fair skin, blue eyes, wild dark curls. And inwardly, I guess we’re similar too—similar enough, at least, to get along most of the time.
I give him a little finger wave and a sympathetic glance before pouring myself a cup of coffee and joining Mom and Uncle Lenny at the table.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Mom says extra-chipperly. She slides a platter of bacon across the table toward me, obviously forgetting, in all of her enthusiasm, that I don’t eat red meat.
I cock an eyebrow at her. “Sunshine?”
Mom laughs, and so does Uncle Lenny. I take a still-warm buttermilk biscuit from a large bowl and slather it with jelly, then slide an egg onto my plate, along with a few apple slices.
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