Down to business: I've been writing a story and I just wanted to share it with you. Here it is:
The Arrival of Trouble
A girl with short, light-red hair stepped up to the door of a big red-brick house. She had a small duffel bag in one hand; the other hand lay protectively on the strap of her blue backpack. She slowly raised her hand to knock on the green and white striped door. These people must be nutters. The girl thought.
A somewhat large man stood behind her, holding a trunk on wheels, keeping it off the ground. “Rapide, sil vous plait, j’ai autres clients,” he said in French.
“Sorry, but I don’t speak French,” The girl said. The cab driver sighed, but said nothing.
The girl raised her hand again, straightened her shoulders, and knocked on the door.
If the girl on the doorstep had been looking closely and carefully, she would have noticed six girls around her age crowded around a small window, which happened to be on the stairs.
“Approximately how long has she been standing there?” A girl with blue eyes and caramel brown hair asked. The freckles on her nose danced as she squinted, trying to get a better look over another girl’s head. The girl below her, with silky black hair and dark brown eyes, replied, “Sara, you have to be patient. Don’t you remember your first day here?” Sara said nothing, and rolled her eyes at a girl beside her. The girl had kind hazel eyes that rolled in response.
I will now take a moment to describe the girls, because if I tried while telling the story, it would never work. Josefina Maria Montoya was a girl who originated from Mexico, and had light brown skin, silky black hair, and dancing brown eyes.
Felicity Margaret Merriman went by Lissie or Lis. She had auburn hair and sparkling green eyes.
Kirsten Anne Larson, who was from Sweden, had long blond hair and sky blue eyes.
Emilia Rose Bennett went by Emily. Emily had short red hair and blue eyes. She had a slight English accent that had diminished after a while from living with American girls.
Sara Caroline Pedersen was the first modern girl. She had caramel brown hair, light blue eyes, and freckles that seemed to jump and dance when she smiled.
Mia Racheal St. Clair was also from the present day; she had long light red hair, sparkling hazel eyes and freckles.
After the girl on the front step knocked, the door was opened by a young woman with long brown hair and hazel eyes. She smiled, her eyes squinting merrily.
“You must be Ginger!” the woman said. “Hi, I’m Lena!” Lena stuck out her hand.
Ginger smiled and said, “I would shake your hand, Miss Lena, but my arms are full!” to emphasize she lifted her backpack and duffel bag.
“Please, simply Lena would suffice, none of that ‘miss’ nonsense. Come in and drop your bags wherever!” Lena said kindly. She stepped aside and Ginger came through the door.
Lena turned to the cab driver and said in French, “Merci, messieur, pour ton assistance. J’ai l’argent juste la . . .” Lena turned around and took a small stack of European money from the chest in the hallway.
“Merci,” The cab driver said. He gave the handle of Ginger’s trunk to Lena who headed inside after Ginger.
As Lena showed Ginger her room (that Ginger got all to herself!), Sara spied on them from across the hall. She pretended she was reading, but, truthfully, was peering over the top of the cover. Sara couldn’t hear much, but she observed Ginger’s demeanor.
Ginger had light red hair that was bleached from the early summer sun. Her warm chocolate brown eyes seemed to make Lena’s smile wider, and captured Lena’s gaze and attention. Ginger’s only facial flaw was her freckles, which completely covered her face, complimenting her busy attitude.
Sara frowned, thinking Ginger would take her own place as favorite.
If only Sara knew how wrong she was.
As Sara was spying, Ginger was unpacking her backpack and duffel bag, while Lena put things in the closet and listened to Ginger talk.
When the duffel bag was laying in the bottom of Ginger’s closet and her backpack was hanging empty over the back of the chair, Lena reached for the heavy trunk and went to unlock it.
“DON’T!” Ginger exclaimed suddenly. Lena shrank back in surprise. Ginger felt bad about her outburst. “I mean, please don’t open that, it, um, has some of my-- I mean, my parent’s things in it. I err; don’t like to open the trunk. It sort of, like, um, err, preserves their memory . . .”
Lena, having fostered now 7 young girls, understood privacy of parentage. Most all 7 of the girls now had brought a bag of things that had belonged to her parents. Lena couldn’t, however, understand why such a big trunk and why Ginger stuttered so much. She decided to let the matter be for the time being, knowing things would work out in the end.
“Sorry Lena, but I’m a bit tired, do you think I could . . .?” Ginger asked, her sentence trailing off.
“Yes, of course!” Lena jumped up quickly and closed the door behind her.
Looking through the keyhole to make sure nobody was watching, Ginger dragged the trunk to the middle of the room and unlocked it from a key hidden in a secret pocket of her backpack.
Slowly she lifted the trunk lid . . .
Soon when Lena closed the door to Ginger’s room, Sara moved to the door and spied on her new inmate. Sara soon gasped at what she saw, and couldn’t believe her eyes. She rushed down the hall to the bedroom she shared with Mia, to tell her best friend . . .
Secrets Told, Secrets Dismissed
When Ginger woke up the next morning, she got dressed and went to the bathroom that all 7 girls now shared and was surprised to find it completely empty. She shrugged and brushed her hair and teeth, not really thinking about it.
When she walked downstairs, the dining room was full of girls – All with messy hair and wearing their pajamas. “Oh.” said Ginger, embarrassed. They all looked up at her, spoons hanging in mid air above cereal bowls. “S-sorry, at the orphanage we were required to be ready for the day before breakfast.”
“Oh, that’s all right, Ginger, don’t worry about it.” Lena said, and she guided Ginger to an empty char. Lena waved her hand and the other 6 girls continued eating.
“So,” said Lena as she sat down to eat. “What do you want to do today? Hang out? Go to the park?” A mixture of exclamations arose in the room, as well as a loud “DISNEY WORLD!” from Sara. Josefina said kindly, “Ginger, would you like to decide?”
“Oh, well, I don’t know…” she faltered. “Why don’t we just stay home? I have some, err, preparations to make for school and owls – I, I mean letters to send, so I’ll be in my room a while.” Ginger hastily drained her juice glass and hurried upstairs.
“Mia!” Sara exclaimed suddenly. “I have something to tell you – it’s quite important. Meet me upstairs – 5 minutes.” She tapped her wrist as if tapping a non-existent watch.
Six minutes later, Mia arrived in the room she shared with Sara. “You’re late.” Sara said seriously. Mia began to protest, but Sara held up her hand and frowned seriously.
“We have business to discuss,” Sara began. “I have some interesting news that has brought me to the conclusion that Ginger is--”
“SARA!” Mia exclaimed. “Just tell me and quit with all the froofra!” “Jeez, Mia, just chillax.” Sara sighed again. “I have come to the conclusion that Ginger is a witch.”
“BWAHAHAHAH!”Mia exploded in laughter. “A witch? Psh, like, what kind, a witch of quietness?” Sara looked a little hurt. “No, I mean a witch as in Harry Potter. Hermione? Ginny? Et cetera?”
“Sara, no one is going to believe you, so you may as well come off it,” and Mia stalked out of the room.
“We’ll see about that, Mia Racheal St. Clair,” Sara said, and crossed her arms indignantly.__________________________________________________________________________________
So, what do you think? Should I continue writing it?