Definitely not a morning person...Mature

Being kicked out of school once or twice is not so shocking and most parents can be understanding about that, but when it's your thirteenth school......that's a whole new story. Jordan is 18 and really taking the title 'bad girl' to new heights. But after an incident that almost lands her in juvie and got her expelled...again, her dad decides he's had enough. He sends her to a small town to go "get her ^@** straight" in a direct quote. But is there actually such a thing as turning a bad girl int

The New Girl

A teen story by Samantha ‘Sassy’ Mponela

chapter 1

“Midnight memories, oh oh oh

Baby you and me

Stumbling in the street

Singing, singing, singing, singing

Midnight memo...”

Now let’s be honest, no one wants to wake up to the screeching of that boy band that could as well have been crickets trying to hit out some Mariah Carey high notes with dry throats. Seriously I had nothing against Harry, the guy had a face to die for but songs that sounded like whining teenage banshees were not gonna do it for me.

So I guess no one can really blame me for putting their album track as my alarm tone, never failed to do the job. Granted I always woke up harbouring murderous thoughts that would give me my own special episode on Criminal Minds.

“Jordan it’s half-past seven you’re running late!”

I winced at the illegally high voice of my mother. Running late? Just at what time did lessons start at Brookville High? Back home I didn’t have to be up until eight, but I guess none of that mattered anymore.

With an irritated sigh and a grumpy face that would have made Grumpy Bear hand over her care bear title; I pushed off my blankets not really caring where they landed on the wooden floor together with the thousands of decorative pillows whose presence on my bed my mother felt was more important than my comfort. I kicked them along the way as I headed for my bathroom. I think it has already been established by now that I’m definitely not a morning person.

What we might not have covered however is who I am. Well I’m Jordan Trager, yes daughter of the famous movie star Michael Trager but also biggest dick to ever live. And no, before your minds wonder kids, I don’t mean that dick, talking about my father’s genitals would just be disgusting and a tad bit disturbing. What I mean he is the biggest jerk of Jerkville. This will probably be proven by the fact that I’m slumming it here in Seattle whilst he’s parading in our Beverly Hills monstrosity of a house with his current slut, I mean friend. He basically told me to pack my staff and follow wherever my mother went.

Now I’m not usually the most rational person ever but who can blame me for hating a woman who left me when I was ten to fend for myself without a backward glance? My father gave me a choice though, sort- offish. He said I could either go to military school or go and get my shit together and that’s a direct quote. So here I am, in an apartment that violated my rights as a child to a healthy living environment and going to be the new girl for the hundredth time in my life.

I threw on some baggy sweats that I sometimes used for dancing, a red bra I had been told could stop traffic and a hood which I only zipped up to half way, leaving my best assets on show.  The outfit was simple but like everything about me, I rocked it with style. Most of my tops were wrinkled anywhere and by the looks of things and lack of maid in this apartment I was going to be doing a lot of laundry on my own. No way was going anywhere near an iron that morning though. I slipped on my black converse and large silver hoops in my earlobes.


“I said I’m coming!” I shouted not even trying to hide my irritation at the woman. Did she think calling me more would make me faster? Not wanting to continue exposing my ears to the torture that was her voice though, I took my sling bag, crossed it over my chest and left my room.

“You were taking long honey, I didn’t want you to be la-,” my mother’s sentence died in her throat as she turned from where she was buttering toast to look at me. I could have laughed at her shocked expression if I thought she was worth the calories.

“Honey-,” she began.

“Don’t call me pet names, it’s stupid.”

“Jodie, I-,” she went on again.

“Dan, it’s Jor-dan,” I emphasized.

“I thought you knew you were beginning school today,” she finally said, deciding to steer clear of nouns.

“I do,” I said walking off to the fridge and grabbing an apple. I took a huge bite and gave a little moan of appreciation, not to my mom, to the wonderful farmer.

“Then why aren’t you dressed?”

She did not just say that. I slowly turned around to face her.

“Are you saying there’s something wrong with my outfit? Seven years without so much as a dime from you and you dare to stand there and judge my clothes? You’ve got a nerve.”


“You can serve it.”

I stomped out ignoring her apologies. How dare she? Walking out on the person who was supposed to give me directions was probably not the best idea but a girl can only take so much in one day. I walked to the elevator and punched the ground floor numbers. I put on my earphones and listened to a morning playlist on my iphone. I felt myself begin to calm as the music soothed me.

The End

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