Believe (Part 1)
This is just part 1, if you like it, then I'll post more. Also, I'm sorry at the random a's with the squiggly line above it (I don't know what it's called :/ ) I don't know how to fix it, I think it's mostly just the ". Sorry but I hope you enjoy!!
Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined.
-Henry David Thoreau
"So, are you going to the dance tomorrow?” Ayesha Lingerman asked as she shut her locker. It was Friday, and it had been a long week for everyone at Bradley Middle school.
I finished entering the combination to my locker and locked it. “I think so.” I replied and knelt down to pack my things in my backpack.
“So, who are you going with?” Ayesha said casually, and flipped her golden blonde hair behind her shoulder.
From the floor where I was zipping my binder, I looked up at her, confused. “What do you mean? I’m probably going to hang out with Marigold.”
Marigold Frenchly was my red haired and blue eyed best friend. It had been a good five years since we met at Pete’s Pottery Paints and fought over the red paint so I could paint a rose on my plate, and Marigold could paint a heart.
Ayesha’s bright blue eyes shined in the sunlight, and she stifled a laugh. “No, silly, I mean a boy.” She smiled.
I felt my face burning. Of course, I thought. She had to ask that.
Ayesha was dating Isaac Moorisan, a good friend of mine. They were dating before I met Isaac, but I still was jealous. Isaac is super nice to me, and is very funny. I met him in the beginning of the year when he moved here, to Michigan, and on my street. We walk home together. Obviously, Ayesha knew him already. At first I thought he was a relative of hers (and boy, I would’ve loved it right then) but it turned out they went to camp together.
So, of course, I hated it when she talked me about how great it is with Isaac as her boyfriend, or about dating. The worst part was that Ayesha knew I liked Isaac.
I stood up with my binder in my arms. “Well, then, no.” I said quietly. The bell rang, and I speeded down the hall.
I saw that Mr. Quigens, my algebra teacher, was talking to Mrs. Govens, the librarian. “Hi! Bye!” I said quickly to them and right out the door behind them.
The autumn breeze felt good on my head and neck. That morning, I fixed my mocha brown hair into a bun. I didn’t do it often, but I was proud of myself for doing it.
My name is Ashling, which means dream, or vision. My full name is Ashling Murray. Like I said, I have dark brown hair. My eyes are a darker shade of baby blue, and I have freckles only on my nose and cheeks. I’m kind of short for my age, but I seem to blend in good with my class mates.
My mother named me after her grandmother, Ashling O’Carroll. Mother said I was a lot like her. She says that she liked to dream, she liked how it was a way to express your feelings, to be in a land of your own. I’ve had my share of dreams, but I don’t seem to have the same connection as Great Grandmother Ashling.
I saw Isaac’s dirty blonde head of hair just cornering the side of the school, towards the road that we cross. I ran to catch up with him, my hands aching from carrying my heavy black binder, full of homework and school junk.
“Isaac!” I laughed, as I grabbed his shoulder, almost knocking him over. He gave a little shout. “Oh, sorry,” I apologized, still smiling.
“It’s okay,” Isaac replied, starting to laugh. “So, are you going to the dance?”
I looked at my feet, now stepping into the road. “Yeah, sure.” I looked at him and faked a smile.
“That’s great. I’m going with Ayesha. We’re planning on entering the ‘Best Couple’ competition.”
I held back a sigh of disappointment, and said, “Good luck. I’m sure you’ll win.”
Isaac smiled. “I hope so. We’ve been practicing our dance for a month now! Ayesha’s finally picked out her dress after what seems a million times she’s changed her mind. It’s gold ball gown.”
“That sounds cool. Now I know you’ll win.” I looked back down at my feet. I thought complementing people were supposed to make you feel good, but it just made me feel worse.
Finally, we were halfway down our street, where Isaac’s house was.
“Ashling?”
I found myself looking up at him quickly; suddenly feeling like something special was going to happen. “Yes?” I stammered.
“Thanks.” Isaac smiled, and walked up his front porch’s steps, opened the door, and went inside.
I kept walking. “You’re welcome,” I murmured.
-Henry David Thoreau
"So, are you going to the dance tomorrow?” Ayesha Lingerman asked as she shut her locker. It was Friday, and it had been a long week for everyone at Bradley Middle school.
I finished entering the combination to my locker and locked it. “I think so.” I replied and knelt down to pack my things in my backpack.
“So, who are you going with?” Ayesha said casually, and flipped her golden blonde hair behind her shoulder.
From the floor where I was zipping my binder, I looked up at her, confused. “What do you mean? I’m probably going to hang out with Marigold.”
Marigold Frenchly was my red haired and blue eyed best friend. It had been a good five years since we met at Pete’s Pottery Paints and fought over the red paint so I could paint a rose on my plate, and Marigold could paint a heart.
Ayesha’s bright blue eyes shined in the sunlight, and she stifled a laugh. “No, silly, I mean a boy.” She smiled.
I felt my face burning. Of course, I thought. She had to ask that.
Ayesha was dating Isaac Moorisan, a good friend of mine. They were dating before I met Isaac, but I still was jealous. Isaac is super nice to me, and is very funny. I met him in the beginning of the year when he moved here, to Michigan, and on my street. We walk home together. Obviously, Ayesha knew him already. At first I thought he was a relative of hers (and boy, I would’ve loved it right then) but it turned out they went to camp together.
So, of course, I hated it when she talked me about how great it is with Isaac as her boyfriend, or about dating. The worst part was that Ayesha knew I liked Isaac.
I stood up with my binder in my arms. “Well, then, no.” I said quietly. The bell rang, and I speeded down the hall.
I saw that Mr. Quigens, my algebra teacher, was talking to Mrs. Govens, the librarian. “Hi! Bye!” I said quickly to them and right out the door behind them.
The autumn breeze felt good on my head and neck. That morning, I fixed my mocha brown hair into a bun. I didn’t do it often, but I was proud of myself for doing it.
My name is Ashling, which means dream, or vision. My full name is Ashling Murray. Like I said, I have dark brown hair. My eyes are a darker shade of baby blue, and I have freckles only on my nose and cheeks. I’m kind of short for my age, but I seem to blend in good with my class mates.
My mother named me after her grandmother, Ashling O’Carroll. Mother said I was a lot like her. She says that she liked to dream, she liked how it was a way to express your feelings, to be in a land of your own. I’ve had my share of dreams, but I don’t seem to have the same connection as Great Grandmother Ashling.
I saw Isaac’s dirty blonde head of hair just cornering the side of the school, towards the road that we cross. I ran to catch up with him, my hands aching from carrying my heavy black binder, full of homework and school junk.
“Isaac!” I laughed, as I grabbed his shoulder, almost knocking him over. He gave a little shout. “Oh, sorry,” I apologized, still smiling.
“It’s okay,” Isaac replied, starting to laugh. “So, are you going to the dance?”
I looked at my feet, now stepping into the road. “Yeah, sure.” I looked at him and faked a smile.
“That’s great. I’m going with Ayesha. We’re planning on entering the ‘Best Couple’ competition.”
I held back a sigh of disappointment, and said, “Good luck. I’m sure you’ll win.”
Isaac smiled. “I hope so. We’ve been practicing our dance for a month now! Ayesha’s finally picked out her dress after what seems a million times she’s changed her mind. It’s gold ball gown.”
“That sounds cool. Now I know you’ll win.” I looked back down at my feet. I thought complementing people were supposed to make you feel good, but it just made me feel worse.
Finally, we were halfway down our street, where Isaac’s house was.
“Ashling?”
I found myself looking up at him quickly; suddenly feeling like something special was going to happen. “Yes?” I stammered.
“Thanks.” Isaac smiled, and walked up his front porch’s steps, opened the door, and went inside.
I kept walking. “You’re welcome,” I murmured.
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