Secretly Wishing

When her mother dies, the only thing Violet has is her father. He remarries. And he just so happens to marry the most popular girl's mother. But when a sudden, deadly disease has her father in the hospital all the time, Violet has to suffer in the wretched clutches of her stepmother. Violet has to find a way to get to that one event she desperately wants to attend. Prom.


4. Excitement

"Hullo?" I mutter into the phone, "Is this Rosa's Taxi Service? Yeah, um, I live at 64 Eastwood Way....I need a ride to Eastwood High School? How much? Ohhh okay, okay, thanks." I click the "end" button. Okay I need fifteen dollars... I think as I look around the grand foyer. A lighbulb goes off in my mind. I race up the carpeted stairs and run into my "room". It's a small closet next to one of the many bathrooms on the upstairs closet. I have a tiny blanket from when I was a newborn to warm me on the cold nights and a pile of dirty shirts as a pillow. No window. No light. I dig through the dirty shirts and fish out a wad of money. Five, ten, fifteen!  I throw the remaining money on my blanket and rush out the closet and down the grand staircase. I take a glance of myself in a mirror with an elegant, chrystal frame. Is that me? My clammy hands reach to clutch my violet pin. My heart beat gradually begins to slow. A honk comes from outside. Here we go...

I scamper to the car, cuddling my cold, bare arms. The old woman in the car looks at me and smiles, "Well aren't you a pretty girl!" I smile politely and mutter a thanks. I hop into the passenger seat."What a gorgeous dress...are you going to a wedding?" the woman's warm blue eyes twinkle in the moonlight. "Actually, Prom," I say as a I buckle the seatbelt. "Beautiful, indeed," she looks at my dress and taps her chin. Then she smiles and the wrinkles at the side of her eyes show. "I have seen that dress before," she whispers, her eyes locked on the dress. "Huh?" I ask. The old woman's ocean blue eyes begins to well with tears. "Huh?" I say quite loud, presuming she couldn't hear me. "My daughter wore an awfully similar dress to her first date. She married him later on." her voice seems shaky and flat, as if she were to burst into tears on the spot. I hesitate to ask, but I manage, "Did your daughter have a daughter?" A tear slides down the woman's wrinkled, leathery cheek. "Oh, yes. Before sh-she..." the woman dabs her cheeks with a hankerchief, "Before she died." I freeze. "What. Was. Her. Name?" I ask clearly. The woman squints her pretty eyes through her circular glasses. "Violet, why?"

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