I, Cameron Wanters, rolled out of bed. A long day faced me. I knew exactly how it would happen. I would get up, my mom would give me 15 things to do at once. When I start on one chore, she tells me to do another. I get a bunch done, but I get no credit. It's like living with an evil step-mother. I am Cinderella, waiting for my big break. The one thing that I have always been able to count on for a good escape is my books. Not just any books, but the seven books that I think about everyday. The Harry Potter series is my escape.
"Cameron Marie! Get down here!" My mother yells. She is the only thing in my way, stopping me from having a life. Stopping me from following my dreams.
Sure, like every other girl, I want to be a singer and an actress, but I want to be a witch. Yeah, yeah. I know it'll never happen. That's why I'm such a day-dreamer. Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, and Diagon Ally are the settings of my dreams.
"Cameron! Get down here, NOW!" My mother yelled again.
"Coming!" I yell, slipping on a t-shirt and jeans. Muggle life is not my thing.
I ran down the stairs, full speed.
"What took you so long?!"
I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could answer or even let a sound out, she cut me off.
"Never mind. Just brush your teeth and brush your hair, get your shoes on, put on a jacket, and get down here as fast as you can!"
I bolted back up the stairs. I put my best black, Converse high-tops on. I brushed my hair, leaving the long, dark brown, straight hair down. I brushed my teeth, put on a sweatshirt, and ran back downstairs.
You'll never see me wear pink. I am, for the most part, one of the guys. Most of my best friends are boys. I'm a tomboy, most of the time. I believe girls are as tough, if not tougher, than guys. I can outrun, out-throw, outsmart, oh, basically outdo the boys in anything. On the other hand, my mom thinks girls like me should stick to being the maid. I dread these long hours when my dad is at work.
"Get in the car. We are going to go to your brother's soccer game." My mother demanded. If I could kick a soccer ball or throw a football in the practice field with all of the other kids, yes. But my mother makes me sit on the sidelines, no snacks, just watching people run on a field. I think not.
"No!" I shoot back, "I don't want to."
"You have to."
"Why?! Because you hate me?!"
"Just get in the car!"
"No." I repeat, determined not to go.
"If you let me stay, I'll clean the bathroom, or I'll do the laundry, clean my room, sweep, dust, whatever you tell me!" I plead.
"Fine. Clean the bathroom, sweep the dining room, dust the picture frames in the hallway, and clean your room, Cameron." My mother demands, walking out of the door.
"Ugh, whatever," I reply, but she can't hear me. She's already driven away. That was probably the easiest fight we've ever had. Usually she takes all of my millions of Harry Potter behind the scenes, making the movies, and every other HP book I have away. I got lucky.
My days go as follows: Another day, another fight.