A day of boring lessons led to the home time and I travelled by bus to get to our cosy home. During my walk-but mainly bus drive-home, I couldn't help but think of the word Blood. Maurelle had thought out, in such a clever, hinting way, her words-Blood-and it touched upon my affection for her hidden personality. The vulnerable, selfless, sweet side of Maurelle, which was very rare to spot. Blood. It wasn't just a random pick of people who had to be haunted but it was by blood. Family traits!
Getting home and expressing my glum face towards Mum and Dad made me nervous. I was told off once or twice about always being moody. I get that my parents don't know that I have this Spook haunting me but teenagers get moody.
I unlocked the front door and stumbled in, kicking off my school shoes, almost scratching the edges. I flung my heavy bag and blazer onto the banister, careless of my blazer falling.
"Hello, Amelie!" Dad yelled from the living room, as I heard the sound of football cheers and whistles from the T.V. Halfway up the stairs to my bedroom, my dad half ran, half jogged towards me, his face not looking so happy.
"Hey! Amelie, can you say hello! When you come home, you should greet us!" He said, firmly. Even though his voice wasn't loud or harsh or he wasn't shouting, it struck me like he did, scarring me to always greet him every time I came home. It was a habit not to, from when Maurelle entered my life, I paid too much attention on her to the people I actually cared about.
"Hello..." I murmured, rudely.
"Your mum has something to tell you!" He smiled, but wasn't the sort of smile you would see when a parent is telling their kid that they have tickets for a One Republic or a Katy Perry concert, but more a smile like that can turn the whole situation around. Something was up. Not particularly a good thing. I backed down the stairs, shoving-not meaning to-past my dad. I felt his head lean next to my ear and whisper, "It wasn't my idea." I didn't turn or stop. But this defiantly wasn't good.
I cornered into the living room, to find that my mum wasn't actually in there and then headed for the kitchen. The smell of brownies or some sort of cake related food wafted up my nose. Opening the door to find a batch of brownies on a plate delighted me until I saw Mum. It wasn't that I didn't want her to be here but it was that there was news-not good news-to be explained to me.
"Hi, sweetie." She smiled, cleaning off the remains of chocolate on her hands with a tea towel.
"Hi...Mum. Umm...what's up?" I stuttered.
"She'll tell you!" I heard Maurelle croak.
I know that, I felt like saying.
"You're...Oh, Pete, you tell her!" My mum struggles to say, staring at my dad.
"Emily!" My dad sighed.
"Mum?" I shuddered. I couldn't remember a time when they had suffered so much from anxiety just to tell me something. Apart from when they told me that my social worker had cancer. Brain cancer. They had made me have a social worker, since they thought I had severe depression. I looked at Dad to find answers. He was so dull-not meaning offence-but he almost dedicated his entire life for me and Mum. He was plain and if he were a colour, he'd be grey. It wasn't easy to notice his emotions or thoughts as it was for other people, including Mum so I struggled to find answers like my parents struggled to tell me this...thing.
"Ok! You're going to-" My dad begun, being interrupted by a sudden leap of bravery from Mum as she concluded the explanation.
"-a camp!" She beamed. I felt like she was missing something because this wasn't bad news at all. Maybe I underestimated them.
"Em?" I heard my dad say after a while.
"Amelie, sweetie, your mother and...I-mostly your mother-" My dad started, receiving a glance from Mum.
"Both of us have decided..."
"...that you'll be going to-oh what the heck! Amelie! You're going to depression camp!"