"Love, hurry up!" Mom's voice came from down the stairs.
I made my finishing touches and then hopped down the stairs.
"Bye, sweetheart, have fun!" She said, her head buried in her cook book.
"I'll try," I muttered under my breath so she couldn't hear me.
Then I went outside and took my bike from the wall. I hopped on and began to cycle my way to school on the footpath.
When I came to the main road, I peddled over to the cyclists area. It was empty besides me. Cars zoomed past.
Then I suddenly came to the dreaded turn. I had forgotten it over the summer. It is when the cyclist area becomes as thin as a pen (Alright, maybe not that thin. But you get my point). The cyclists have to get in really close to the footpath. The cars also need to come in really close to the cyclist area because of the speed bumps ahead, and because the branches from the trees on the sides lean over to the middle of the road and scrape against the top of the cars.
I slowed down carefully, flicking at the gear with my fingers. The cars slowed down too. There was one exceptionally slow car, a rusty old mini with shattered windows and doors with scrapes on them. I pitied the owner, but not for long.
The car suddenly came into the cyclist area, and I skidded onto the footpath, falling of my bike. The bike lay on the cyclist area, and the car came in closer, almost crushing me and it. I grabbed my bike- it's my only way of transport since our family car was stolen and we are too poor to get another. We are too poor to afford a bus as well- and dragged it onto the footpath with me.
The window of the car rolled down.
"My darling girl, are you alright? Are you in need of a lift?"
"No!" I spat. Answering the second question only.
"Oh, you're hurt!" I looked up, a girl, about my age with black hair and dreadfully pale skin, was smiling down on me. She had wide teeth, and a maniac smile.
"No- I'm not."
"Look at your sprained ankle, though." She laughed a psycho laugh.
"I don't have a sprained ankle!" I snapped.
"Yes you do," the girl said, cocking her head to one side. Her expressionless eyes looked straight into my brown ones. She stared at me, and I stared back. My ankle began to hurt a bit.
"Stop, you idiot." I thought to myself, "Thinking about being hurt will make me hurt."
I continued to backfire her stare, the pain in my ankle increasing ever so slightly.
She stared at me, her smile widening, widening.
With every second the pain in my ankle became worse.
I had no pain before she said I had. I looked away.
She laughed uncontrollably.
Then she tried to steer the car onto the footpath.
I quickly stood up, yelping in pain.
"Class time." She whispered to me. "Fun time."
She drove away, since she couldn't get up onto the footpath.
I got onto my bike again, and cycled to school on the footpath.