First Chapter of Allure...

Kanichiwa.
Hey everybody, I just finished typing the first chapter of Allure and it might not be perfect-I might change it up a bit- but this is what i have so far. Read the summary before you read this. It will make it more exiting. Please comment of what you think. Thank you for reading.
Allure
Chapter 1
“Mmm…” the moan had just escaped my lips when her mother whispered “Adrian, honey, it’s time to wake up.”
I pulled off her sleeping mask to see that it was 6:00am as my mom still sat on the soft duvet covering my bed and stroked my hair. The delicious smell of French toast with vanilla wafted through the open crack of her door and into the bedroom.
Ever since I was a little kid I had always hated the blaring noise of alarm clocks, so from an early age, my mother took the job. She is an early riser she wakes up at 5:00am every day and prepares for a long day work. I, myself, always sleep like the dead and am bleary- eyed when I wake up for another day of school. I can’t comprehend how my mother does it; she always seems fully charged and awake.
“Aww c’mon just a little longer… please…” I whined, practically falling back asleep. The rhythm of my mothers’ breath lulling me farther into unconsciousness-
“Oh, I see, it’s going to be like that!” And before I could return into a state of awareness and ask what ‘that’ is my mother started to jab and tickle me in the ribs!-Not the most pleasant way to wake up-. I let out a yelp like a six year old even though I just turned eighteen a couple of days ago.
“Ok, Ok, I’m up!” She didn’t stop. I tried to squirm out of her iron grip. “Mom! Joyce!” The sound of her name broke her out of her state. Pulling her hands away, she half smiled, cocked and eyebrow and said “You’d better be.” She got up and turned to leave the room, I called after her.
“I’ll be down in five.” My voice was groggy but my mind was lucid. I pushed myself into a sitting position against the headboard of my bed, casting away a random array of pillows.
“Well, I’m making your favorite. You only have two more weeks of school left until graduation!!!” It was actually two weeks and one day before school is out. My school system is awkward. Before grad, my entire school and one week to prepare for finals, the week to take them and after one weekend, the following Monday is when –if-we graduate. She tried to sound excited but she knew perfectly well the hectic two weeks that waited for me. Lovely.
She left quickly after a final glance that confirmed I was still awake. I pushed the mask that was sitting on top of my head to my nightstand and swayed out of bed. I had to catch up on some homework so I was extra tired this morning. The moment both of my feet hit the ground I got the worst head rush. I closed my eyes hard and rubbed my temples then reached out to the pillar that stuck out of my bed to steady myself. I let out a grunt and stood up strait with my rush passing quickly.
Blinking away the remnants of the head rush the reflection in the mirror to the left of me caught my eye. I turned to face it squarely and examined myself, when I did the curls of my dark, auburn, coppery hair brushed my elbows and I could see it stood slightly tasseled atop my head. It never ceased to amaze me that I could see my deep olive coloured tan in this light, it was almost pitch black in here. My heavy curtains were drawn tightly together and the only bit of light illuminating my room was coming from where my door laid only a crack open.
I only went to these lengths to keep it this dark because I cannot sleep with any light surrounding me. That is where my mask comes in. Wearing it is a childhood habit when I didn’t have the velvet curtains I do now, and I needed something to block out the light.
No one was here to criticize or comment about this because ‘Daddy’ split right after I was born and Joyce was to heartbroken to ever love again, hence no brothers or sisters. My father and I shared the same hair but while my father had eyes bluer then the sky I have Joyce’s green eyes that shone like emeralds. So, for eighteen years it has just been my mom and I. I was too young to ever know my father and Joyce won’t even speak his name. She doesn’t want me to have anything to do with “that wretched man”. She loved him. He left her. End of story. I suppose it causes her to much pain to talk about him because the rare moments she refers something to him or his name is mentioned, any reminder of him, her eyes fill with pent up tears and her back becomes hunched- so I don’t push it on her. You can tell he was the one and only love of her life.
The school I attend starts at 7:30am so it’s no wonder that I am supposed to get up at 6:00am. We don’t have uniforms-thank the lord- so I pulled on my favorite purple shorts and a tasteful navy tank with a silver inlay in the pattern of a blooming flower on the right side of it. I have a simple style, some inlayed silver there, a splash of fuchsia here and I don’t where much makeup. Just a little eyeliner-I am serious, I don’t heavily line my eyes like raccoon-girls do- and eye shadow and the occasional dash of lip gloss. My lashes are thick and dark, like my hair-so it already looks like I am wearing mascara.
“Adrian! I am now eating your toast!” My mom bellowed from the kitchen downstairs, snapping me out of my reverie. I sucked in an annoyed breath and then lazily walked out of my room and ambled down the hall, making sure she heard my footsteps and when I reached the top of the staircase, Joyce was nowhere in sight and so there for, was not eating my French toast. I smiled a mischievous smile and hurried my pace to select a seat.
The second I entered into the vicinity of the kitchen the smell intoxicated me. Joyce was a fabulous chef, despite her having a full time job as a lawyer. She is forty years old but is still unusually beautiful with her porcelain smooth skin, her dirty blond hair and eyes like mine that shone brighter than green fire.
Joyce’s’ working hours are long-as I mentioned, full time- she has to leave the house at 6:30am every morning and then comes back home at 6:00pm every day except for the weekends. Her boss said she could have Saturday as well as Sunday off if she put in the extra hours in the week time. She says I am the only light in her world and wants to spend as much time with me as possible. An actual quote. She is paid extremely well-a product of her boss having a crush on her. Our house is a large bungalow. It has two floors but no basement. It is pretty big.
I don’t use my freedom badly, I don’t smoke and I don’t drink. I also haven’t tried either; I knew if I did, my mother would literally kill me. I do have a boyfriend though. From my point of view he is perfect. He calls me beautiful instead of hot and likes me for who I am, his parents did raise him right, after all. His name is Sean. Sean transferred three years ago, at the begging of the ninth grade. When he transferred everybody thought he was a heaven sent gorgeous angel and flocked toward him like bugs to a light-except me. He has messily styled jet black hair and eyes like the sea. When the girls were all over him, I stayed away. I loathe people who get attention because of how attractive they are. People should get attention for their achievements. Things everybody has an equal chance at doing. Sean picked up on what I was doing and came to me. He wanted someone who liked him for him. It isn’t hard to be around him, I learned this after a couple months of avoiding him, I was then still under the impression he was thoughtless and shallow. When I learned who he really is I learned to love him, and the cute, cocky smile he flaunts always gives me a reason to go to school.
I sat down at the dining room table on the closest seat to the kitchen so I could inhale the noxiously good smell for as long as possible. That particular chair has a loose leg and so when I sat on it, it wobbled and I sucked in a breath and made a sound I did not know I could make. At that moment, Joyce bursted out of the kitchen with two steaming plates of French toast, suppressing a smile I narrowed my eyes but she could not see. She could afford help but she likes the independence and really hasn’t trusted anyone since dad left. Dancing over to the table she did a spin, put one plate in front of me and plunked herself into a chair adjacent to me while humming “Pocketful of Sunshine” by Natasha Bedingfield.
“Why are you in such a good mood?” I asked, stuffing half a piece of toast onto my mouth.
She let out a breath she had been holding, as to say finally, she asked! “This guy got busted for kidnapping and I am going to crush him like a bug in court today!” She gets a lot of satisfaction from her job. She clapped her hands together and her fork clattered to the floor. I giggled and she half heartedly glared at me before retrieving her fork.
I finished my two pieces of toast when she was still on her first. It’s not that I was in a rush, I just eat quickly. Joyce says my stomach is like a black hole, I can eat as much as I want but I never get the least bit pudgy. My metabolism is very fast so it gives me nice curves. My mother has always envied me because she gains weight easily and works hard to keep it off. I say thanks for breakfast as I saunter into the kitchen to wash my plate. There is already a frying pan in the sink and a glass, square bowl. Balancing my plate precariously upon the pan, I reached over to the stove rack to retrieve the rubber gloves. Pulling them on, I looked up at the clock. 6:20. Mom should be leaving in ten minutes. She always aims to be out of the house by 6:30am. The bus I take comes at 6:45am. The bus is supposed to be here at 6:30 but for the amount of comatose teenagers it picks up, I am surprised it is only fifteen minutes late.
Just as I place the last of the dishes on the rack Joyce materializes through the door and hands me her plate. I raise my eyebrow but take the plate. She gives me an apologetic smile and says”I gotta run, its 6:30, I’ll see you after work!” She flashes one last smile and bustles out of the kitchen and to the front door. Finishing her plate, I remembered I left my catch up home work upstairs. I made a sound that vaguely resembled ‘Humph’. Up the stairs, I open my door and it is still pitch black, just the way I like it. It only takes a minute for my fully dilated pupils to adjust to the poor lighting. Picking up the homework that sat in my desk, I saw my book; “Fire” by Kristin Cashore is, on the nightstand. I don’t normally have time to read at school but since this week is only studying I might get some time. Making my way towards the nightstand, I smashed my pinkie toe on the brass foot of my bed. “Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, owwwwwwwwwwww!” I what I mumble to myself as I limp back to the bedroom door, book in hand.
As soon as I reach the bottom of the stairs, probably swallowing up my reading minutes trying to inflict the least amount of pain on my toe, I head toward the down filled couch, anticipating the luxurious feeling of sitting on a cloud. Just as I cross the hardwood floor of the dining room, heading toward the family room, just outside I hear the booming horn of the bus, honking twice to signal he is here. The scowl that has been set on my face since I hit my toe hovers strong as I reach to pull my classy black ballet flats on. The worst of the pain from the hit has subsided. I pull on my Caribbean Joe sunglasses and brace myself for leaving the shadows of my house.
The moment the beams wash over me, the light seizes my attention and energy. I squint, hardly able to see, through the dark complexion of the glasses. I absolutely despise what the sun does to me. I don’t know what’s happened to me or what is wrong with me. When I was little, I basked in the sunlight with my mother, but as I grew older, so did pain light brings me.