Tristesse d' E'te'

Christine Wells is a normal teenage girl, recently healing from a loss. When she meets a new French teacher that thinks Christine can learn a whole new lot from French, Christine has a whole new life ahead of her.

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7. June 5, 2017; Norfolk, Virginia; 10:00 AM

 I woke up and sniffed. She is not my mother! She is not my mother!​ I had a headache from the 5 obnoxious words. I walked out of the room holding my head and went to the bathroom.
I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were red. They hurt. I ran the water as I put my hands under there. I splashed it in my face. I have never been sick before, but  I read in medical school in summer that splashing water on your face will make you feel cooler and it will take your mind off of things.
But I still felt hot. I felt my forehead. It burned my hand really bad. I ran it under cool water.
​ Missy came by with a basket of laundry. I didn't want her to see me, so I slammed the door.
​ I wanted to stay in here forever, or until my sickness gets better. If I was allowed to ride my bike a couple blocks, then I could go see the Dr. Rosero. She lives in the neighborhood. She is the best doctor I ever had.
When it was time to go outside, I grabbed my bike and rode slowly to Dr. Rosero's house, with or without her permission.
​"Well, hello, Miss," DR. Rosero said. "May I help you?" She was in her garden pulling weeds. I was expecting her to be doing home operating surgery or something like that.
​"Wait..." She said, coming up close to me. "you look familiar...?" then she pulled me close. "Oh my god! Miss Christine Wells? How are you? I haven't seen you since you were 5!" She pulled back. "How's your old Daddy doing?"
My heart pained at the word 'daddy'. I shook my head sadly. Good thing I had bought my recorder. It was in my pocket.
​ Once we settled in the house, I pulled out my voice recorder.
​"He drowned," I typed slowly, hesitating. "And so did Raymond. They died when I was 6." And then I told her (through the recorder) how I don't talk anymore, and how I ignore Missy, and that boy who's name I forgot and that other girl Nancy. The whole time she kept nodding and shaking her head and saying "aah", and "that's nice" and other things too like "oh my" and "that's sad". I felt that way, too.
​ "Well, that is an interesting nonfiction, Christine," she said, stroking her chin. "But I am afraid that I am no therapist. How else can I help you?"
​"I am not here for therapy," I typed. "Can't you see me? I am sick."
​"Well, dear, you don't look sick." And when she said that, I didn't feel sick, either. I rushed to her mirror and looked. She was right. I wasn't! I air hugged myself. I almost smiled, but then caught myself.
I took a deep breath. Don't get over-happy, or happy at all, I thought. I ran out of the bathroom, gave Dr. Rosero a quick hug, and left.



When I walked into the house, Missy was waiting beside the door, probably for me.
​ "Where were you?" she asked me, folding her arms. She did not look happy. But I didn't care. I didn't look her in the eye at I tried to squeeze past her. She almost closed the door, and only her head was peeking out.
​"No," she said. "I will not stand by you anymore. Now either you tell me what's going on, or you will not step back into this house."
Fine by me,​ I thought as I strode down the steps.
"Christine, wait!" she yelled. I felt a hand grab my shoulders, and I gasped as the person turned me around. "Christine Wells, you are my daughter. I need to know what's the matter."
As the word daughter sinked in, I tried to wiggle from her grasp harder than ever. Then I couldn't take it anymore.
​ "I am not your daughter! Now leave me alone!" I screamed. Then I gasped. I heard Missy gasp, too. My face reddened as I stormed into the house, and I switched the lock.
 

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