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.


1. Coming!

Pain. That's what I feel right now. I've been gripping that mop handle so hard that my palms are raw and fleshy. I wipe the beads of sweat from my clammy forehead. Click, clack. Click, clack. The sound of Donna's heels echoe in the hall. "Violet?!" Donna screeches, "VIOLET!!!" I groan and clutch my caved-in stomach. "Yes, Donna?" I answer with a trace of fear in my voice. Donna rushes into the room. Her jaw is tightened. Her fists are stiffly at her sides. "Why isn't my room CLEANED?!" Donna says through her pearly teeth. "I-I f-forg-g-g-ot," I stutter. "Well do it, idiot!" she squeals. I nod and lower my head. I stagger to the stairs.

Almost done, I reassure myself. I pluck the very last Coach purse of the white carpet and place it neatly on the glass hook. I put my hands on my hips and rejoice in my accomplishment. I look at the pure white canopy bed with the neatly placed wine red silk throw at the end and sigh. Not only do I have to work morning to night 24\7, but I have to work in the mansion of Donna Daniels, the has-been famous singer from the eighties. Not to mention work for her daughter, Chantele Daniels, the most popular, sultry, gorgeous junior in the entire Burbrook High School Campus. My stomach rumbles and I clutch it. "VIOLET?!" a voice screeches, "VIIOOOLEEEET?!" "Coming, Chantele!" I hollar. I scamper down the hall and run into Chantele. "Ow, you wretch!" she rubs her thin arm. "S-s-sorry, Chantele! I-I d-d-didn't m-mean t-to!" She rolls her icy blue eyes. "Just go vacuum my room!" I crinkle my eyebrows, "But I vacuumed your room two hours ago," I mumble. She pulls my arm and guides me to her room. She points her manicured finger at a hairball on her white carpet, "GET THAT!"  Instead of getting a vacuum from downstairs and hauling it up the grand staircase, I simply snatch the hair ball from the ivory carpet and toss it into her zebra-print trash bin. "There," I rub my dirty hands together, "Done." Chantele's closet creaks open. I turn to face it. I could barely see, but I could vaguely see a dress hang from a pink handle. "What's that?" I point to the dress. "A reject....," she expains as she yanks open the white closet. And she reveals the most beautiful dress I have ever seen.

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