The Year of Growth

Amanda is a spoilt child who needs a cure of her selfishness. Alice is a girl fighting to keep her father alive, and to keep her family from falling in to the poor class. Amanda's father has given a reward for any one who can cure his sour-faced girl. That reward will be enough to keep Alice's father alive.

Between the girls there is an instant dislike, but as the year go's on, and the girls grow toghether and discover something that could seal their bonds as friends, or destroy them.

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4. Amanda

I didn't want to thank her in person. I had whispered it to myself, as she might of been listening, but I still felt like I had to keep a brick wall between us. Now that it was autumn, my father would probably be away on buisness trips a lot, leaving me on my own. With Alice of course. I wondered what her mother was like. Was she kind? Was she cruel? I'd ask her, but I knew how painful it was to talk about someone dead. I used the den she made me. It did cover you in wet weather, but I generally wasn't allowed out if it was wet.

My boy cousins would be spending the autumn and half of winter with us. I probably should tell Alice that. I mean, I had tried to be nice to her, but it seems she's built such a hard, supporting shell for herself, that its hard to see if she can see your efforts! I wondered if I should give her something in return. I wondered what she liked. I jumped up from my bed and charged through the house, only just avoiding the pricless ming vases and roman busts. She was of course in her bedroom. Which was in the attic. I shuddered as the spiders crawled all over their dusty webs. Ugh. I knocked at the door of her room, and was greeted by silence. Was she asleep? I knocked louder. Still no answer. I slowly turned the brass knob and crept in. 

 Her room was an art gallery. Old oil paintings on canvas where stacked up, dusty with neglect. One was laid out on the bed, a plain cotton thing, which looked very uncomfortable. The painting had a peice of paper laid on it, where a detailed copy was being drawn. The rooms walls where covered with paper like this, all different parts of the house, or people, all named in copperplate. I looked at one of me. She had framed me smiling, and there was another one of the first time we met, where my face was portrayed as a violent temper. I laughed. Then I saw ones of her family. There was one of her mother and father. They looked happy. Then there was a picture of her father alone. He looked ill. Depressed. The poor girl. Then the pictures moved on to flowers and other delightful arangements, but I still was caught in the other pictures. I think I knew what would cheer her up.

 

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