Chapter 1

I notice that my eyes had passed over the same words for the third time in a row, yet the secrets that the pages had stored were still a mystery to me. I slam the book shut and throw it on my bed, but I did so forcefully causing it to tumble over to the other side and fall onto the floor. Immediately I rush towards the book, only to hear something crash. I look over and I see the stool that I was sitting on miserably broken on the floor.

It was utterly chaotic; frustration was never really something I knew how to handle.

I then remember the book, imagine those bent pages, and quickly run to it. Suddenly, something violently hits my face and the pain starts blooming; I had tripped on the edge of my carpet. I slowly open my eyes and the first thing I see are the bent pages; right there, in the middle of my melancholy room, I lay sprawled on the floor, my only companions a ruined chair and an injured book. I close my eyes, ready to drift away and forget this awful evening.

" Lily", my brother says as he enters the room, "you know you can't keep sleeping on the floor."

I raise my head and I feel the side of my face that hit the floor. It feels numb and flat, and I realize its probably red and marked. I rush to the mirror across my bed, so that I can see the marks on my cheek. I raise my hand to the interesting lines, wanting to feel them before they disappear. My hand still on my cheek I turn around to find Jonah holding the book, and inspecting the bent page. He raises his head, looks at my cheek, and asks with a smile lingering on his face, "What did the book ever do to you?"

I frown remembering the series of events leading to this moment, and then I hear this sort of choking sound. It takes me a while to realize that Jonah is laughing, and at that sound I start 'choking' too. Its a family thing I guess.

"So how can I help," he says after the laughter subsides and finally takes a proper look at my room. My room is pretty big. Four walls, one ceiling, one floor, one bookcase, one bed, one closet, one desk, one (now shattered) stool, one carpet, and one full length mirror. The room is rectangular. Backed up against the extremely pale pink wall, behind the white door, is the vintage, cream colored, queen sized, tufted bed that my twin sisters used to share and beside it, dominating the smaller wall, my overflowing saddle colored, wooden bookcase stands. On the other side, beneath the large window is my tall and horizontally long study desk which has school supplies organized on it with folders and school books in the golden accented, cream colored drawers beneath it. Accompanying the desk is what used to be a tall white, wooden stool and in front of that is my similarly colored, also vintage, makeup desk, not that I know how to use make up to begin with - other than the basics: mascara, lip gloss, blush, etc., but hand me downs are hand me downs. Plus it looks good in my room. Against the other small wall is the also vintage, also cream colored, also slightly golden closet stationed next to the gold framed full length mirror, which is right next to the white bathroom door.

I walk over to the remains of the stool on the floor, pick up a piece, walk over the white fur carpet that I tripped on earlier, and hand the piece to my brother, who had put the book on the bed. "Can you fix it ?", I ask. "Please."

Jonah looks at me and says, " fine... But you can only make white chocolate chip cookies for the next week. None of this peanut butter nonsense."

I don't know how i'll do it. How does he expect me to not have at least one peanut butter cookie this week and who even likes white chocolate. The agony. Jonah sees the pained expression on my face, takes the remains of the stool and leaves my room absorbed in his own laughter. I pick up the book and try to straighten the pages filled with Jane Austen's words. 'Sense and Sensibility' is the title, and try as I may, I hadn't been able to get past the first three pages. Was it because the english was a bit more sophisticated than what I usually read? Maybe. Was it because I was tired? I don't know. Or was it the fact that I couldn't help but imagine for, the third time this week, what my parents were like?

I look at my watch and see that it is almost ten in the evening and that I had managed to nap for 3 hours on the floor. Longing for the comforts of my bed, I put the book on the desk so that I can return to it later, jump onto my bed, go under the covers and drift away once more.