King Of Aces

Chapter One: First Impressions.

To be honest, I wasn’t ready for the first thing my father said to me on the early morning of fifth September. Not even in the least. Imagine sneaking into your room at about five o’clock in the morning, through the window, drunk almost out of daylights, only to find your father sitting calmly at the edge of your bed.

“Ellie, I lost my job. We’re moving to Grandma’s house next week. Pack your suitcases.” He had said, in the calmest voice I’ve ever heard -which is saying something because I’ve heard Billie Eilish and Khalid singing ‘lovely’ and my father’s voice was calmer than that.

The funny thing was, I looked at him in the eyes for what felt like forever, trying to keep my balance, and I thought about all the things wrong with him. Actually, scratch that. All the things wrong with the both of us.

If we had been a normal family, with a normal father-daughter relationship, he would have been outraged that I sneaked out and drank too much, and I would’ve been ashamed I got caught, or exasperated that I wasn’t allowed to live out my teenage years.

But no…

Some dads worry about their daughters fitting in with the wrong crowd, and some dads tell their daughters to pick up their lives within a week and move to a completely new town, to live with an old woman they had barely seen since they were five.

My father didn’t lose his job. He had no job to begin with. See, my father is… well, to put it simply, he was -and maybe still is, a criminal. Its more complicated than that, and to give you the full history of how I got to learn pickpocketing and many other activities considered juvenile, I’ll have to go through stories of mental asylums, doctors, prisons, court hearings, and so much other unpleasant memories. So instead, I’m going to start from moving.

Moving…

It’s a word I am familiar with. Packing up in suitcases and cardboard boxes, new introductions, curious faces, first impressions… I was familiar with all of it. But somehow, foolishly, I had thought living in Rocky Acres would be more permanent… I was wrong, for the umpteenth time in my life.

So, we moved. We packed up and left. I didn’t even say goodbye to my friends because I didn’t want to experience the teary eyes and quivering lips and lingering gazes. I’ve had enough to last me a lifetime.

North-Winds was beautiful. The name is kinda pretentious and cringe if you ask me, but the layout, the weather, and the overall vibes of the town made up for its crappy name. I can’t remember the memories I made there when I was five, but I knew the terrible ones came after it, not before.

And that is basically what brings us to the beginning of my tale of woe; out of my many tales of woes. Grandma says it’s not a tale of woe, but you know what? I’ll let you judge for yourself.

Thirteenth September. I woke up feeling like shit because I barely had three hours of sleep and was up filling out part-time job applications on literally anything and anyone that would take me, and simultaneously watching Vampire Diaries on my rusty old computer that takes an hour to turn on or shut down.

Fall had begun, and the air smelled like dying leaves, cigarettes, and neighbors not minding their own business.

I wobbled out of the single bed and headed straight for the tiny bathroom connected to it, taking a huge shit and simultaneously brushing my teeth. When you have the time management of a four-year-old like I do, you learn a saving skill called multitasking.

I threw my tattered hair that look more like a rat’s nest in a bun, and grabbed my backpack, stuffing the three notebooks I found in Grandma’s storage room into it. There wasn’t enough time to change into better clothes -not that I had any better clothes, and so I rubbed deodorant and smoothed down my black baggy jeans and faded green t-shirt which I had slept in.

Grandma threw open the door. Yes, ‘threw open’. Old Mrs. Kellerman has no sense of privacy, and zero respect for personal space. The fact that she walked in on me taking a shower twice since I got here is enough proof. And I got here two days ago.

“Breakfast is ready, sweetie, come eat.” She said, looking at my clothes disapprovingly and taking in the sight of the messed up and disorganized room.

I still hadn’t gotten around to cleaning it.

“I’m sorry grandma, I’m running late. I’ll grab a bite at school and will be here for dinner. Promise.” I replied, with a forced smile, trying to maneuver past her, who was blocking the doorway and my only exit.

“Nonsense. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Plus, it is your first day at a new school with new people and new teachers and new things to learn. Your brain has to be in a stable, healthy and functioning condition. And don’t you have anything better to wear? Like a sundress? You look like a runaway fugitive from those homes they have for delinquent children, what do they call it… Suzie’s son had to go there once… what was the name again… I can’t remember… I think…” she drawled on in that kind of voice that old ladies used when trying to explain things.

I was running late, she was blocking the exit, and I knew it would take an argument before I got her to move, or at least an additional fifteen minutes if she forced me to change clothes and eat breakfast.

I glanced around the room to hide my agitation and frustration. The room wasn’t very small, but it was very cramped up with furniture that it made it look tiny. The walls were painted porcelain white, with little blue butterflies. The floor was covered in soft blue carpet, and most of my clothes that I hadn’t put away. To be honest, a few empty boxes of pizza and five bottles of energy drinks were also strewn about on the floor, but I pretend not to see them.

The window!

Grandma was still talking about juvie and dresses and “back in their days” when I abruptly made my way to the window, lifted the glass slide, and slipped out, yelling back “I’ll see you at dinner Grandma!

I took off in a sprint, hoping my pace would take me to North-Winds High before the first bell rang. I definitely did not want to be late for my first class. First impressions were important… or at least that’s what I’ve made myself believe over the years.

Someone honked behind me, and I paused for a moment, glancing at the driver as he lowered the passenger seat window.

“North-Winds! Going there? Hop in, I’ll take you.” The guy yelled out, driving alongside my jogging strides.

I had seen him on the first day we moved in, peeping out the window next door to Grandma’s house. There was nothing shabby or creepy about his whole demeanor, but I didn’t like talking to, or taking favors from strangers.

“No thanks.” I yelled back, increasing my pace and turning my jog into a half run.

His black Jeep kept following me.

I stopped, as he also slowed, and I turned around, facing him through his rolled down windows with my hands on my hips. “What do you want?” I demanded.

“Really, you don’t want to be late on your first day. I’m Jason, your next-door neighbor, and I’m only offering you a ride.” He answered with a shrug. His blond hair flopped around with the motions of his head as he talked, and I noticed that he had a dimple on the left side of his cheek.

For a moment I stood there and considered my options. Hitching a ride with him would mean making a new acquittance and getting to school before the first bell rang. But then there was the issue about strangers…

But no, he wasn’t really a stranger. Well, technically he was, but since he lived next door, I was doomed to see him all the time so what was the harm in taking the offer?

“Tick tock… time waits for no one…” he said in a singsong voice.

I huffed, tightening the strap of my backpack and hopped into his car.

The first blast of the air conditioner hit my face and I gave an involuntary sigh. The sweet privileges of the rich. The sweet privileges of the rich that they misuse all the time. God, if I owned this car I would never turn off the air conditioner.

Jason glanced at me and smiled, his dimple sinking into his skin, as he stepped on the gas, driving straight towards North-Winds High.

“So… I saw you come out through the windows. I’m guessing doors aren’t your thing?” he began in a joking manner, looking at me sideways while still focusing on the road.

“I’m guessing windows are your thing since you use them to spy on your neighbors.” I replied. I didn’t mean for it to sound that sassy, but it did. And it sounded a bit rude too.

Jason laughed out loud, hitting the steering wheel like I said something utterly hilarious. He shook his head and dropped the conversation, however his dimple stayed dipped in place, his features in a smile.

I rested my head against the rolled-up windows and sighed. No matter how many times I had done it, meeting new people wasn’t easy and it didn’t get any easier with practice and time. It was a continuous circle. I obsess over good first impressions, then forget about first impressions when people are actually getting their first impressions of me, and then worry about not giving people the best first impression.

Yes, I have a problem with first impressions.

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