Short Writing: Cora Hart: Narrative Short Story

Cora Hart- Narrative Short Story- Working Draft

There. Right over there. At locker number three hundred sixty eight. The new kid, awkwardly fidgeting with the dial. When the locker stubbornly refused to open, she gave an exasperated sigh and pulled a small slip of paper out of her mud-stained jeans. She squinted at it for a moment, then once again attempted the endeavor of opening the locker. This time, it swung open with a victorious click, and she crammed her bag, bursting at the seams with who knows what, into her locker. “Who do you suppose the new girl is?” I turn to my friend Emma, who was also struggling with several large binders. “Don’t know,” she said, fumbling with her own binders and books. “We should go sit with her at
Manger.” She snapped her fingers at me, and with raised eyebrows pointed to the table chair.
“Fine,” I responded relentingly, and decided that the best thing to do was to go with the flow and figure things out that way. As I sat at the dining room table, the mom, I guess “my” mom, brought over a plate with bread with butter and jam and a steaming cup of something I guessed was coffee. I took a sip of the coffee and choked. The burning sensation traveled down my throat and settled in my stomach with an unpleasant feeling. I downed the bread in no time to counter this strange sensation. “Thank you, but I better be going.” I said, again in French to my surprise, as I stood from the table. I was more than ready to see where this day took me. As I made a beeline for the door, I noticed a backpack laying there. I snatched it up on my way, assuming that I would most likely need it.
I closed the screened door behind me, and took a deep breath of fresh air. It smelled wonderful outside. The sun was shining overhead, but puddles still lingered on the ground from last night’s rain. I saw a small cluster of kids who looked about my age gathered on the side of the road. Assuming that this was the bus stop, I walked
Not wanting to have a repeat of math class, I sat there and said nothing. There was an incredibly awkward silence as people started making faces and exchanging comments back and forth, only I had no clue of what they were saying. I shut my eyes tightly desperately wanting this day to be over with. It had been one of the hardest days of school I had ever been through, and I was more that anxious for it to end. Pease, Please, Please! I silently begged.

I sat bolt upright in bed and whipped around to look at the clock. Four thirty AM. I scanned my room. I was glad to observe that it was my room. Yes, the regular blue walls and dirty clothes strewn across the floor. I spit a piece of blond hair, to my relief, out of my mouth. What had just happened? Whatever it was, I decided, happened for a reason. Whether I decided to dismiss it as a dream was up to me. Later that morning, I fixed myself some bread and jam and a cup of coffee, which I found I had acquired a taste for. On the way out the door for school, I gave my mom a peck on the cheek.
“What was that?” She asked