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Hello all! I'm writing a story.....and its called Lemons to Love...! and I want opinions, try not to be that harsh, unless its really necessary...okay? Oh, and one little side note, this is the rough draft, and my spelling and grammar really suck. (take note that I already know this and don't need anymore put downs about it okays? crying )
Lemons to love
Chapter one….
She was a writer. And as for him, he had something rather boring of a cover. She was Nala Potters. Daughter of billionaire Null Potters. Nala was not like other girls, not just in terms of money, but other things too. Most girls would be married off to men in whom they did not love. Most girls would spend hours looking at hair ribbons, dresses, and make up. While Nala would spend her time twirling and dancing in a Nala-ish way at the beach. You would also find this crazy child gazing up at stars in the middle of the night. Most girls had cats and dogs, while Nala had a ferret named Shopka (Russian for hat). Which leads us to another thing about Nala. She spoke and read in Russian fluently, while most (rich) girls were studying French, and others couldn’t even read or write at all.
Nala’s eyes were fixed on a book of poems by Poshkin (famous Russian poet). Just a small part of the HUGE library in the huge house. Nala only had math and science classes on Mondays, (hence the saying, "I hate Mondays.") which left Nala the rest of the time to read, which was what Nala loved to do. Poetry, fantasy, classics, history, realistic fiction. Nala had read all of the books in her section of the library. Nulls section, of off-limits to Nala, but what did she care? They were usually just about political issues that Null thought were to graphic for Nala’s ears to bear.
A warm hand landed on Nala’s head.
“Nala there’s someone here to see you.”
“Now?”
“When else? 5 hours?” said Null sarcastically, as a smooth looking butler stepped into the room.
“Yes, there is a Mrs. Barkley here to see you.”
“Aw, papa, do I have too?”
“I do think 17-year-old girl wouldn’t know the answer to that.”
“bu-“
“No, well, um, yes! In the sense that you have to go see Mrs. Barkley, and fast, its impolite to keep people waiting-another thing a 17-year-old girl should know.” All Null got in return was a roll of the eyes from Nala and an awkward stare from the butler.
“You know what,” started Nala trying hard not to laugh “Why don’t you go?”
“Because my name isn’t Nala Potters.”
“Fine” said Nala, laughing, then turned to the butler with a serious look and said “But don’t call me Miss Ann.” Then she adjusted her face to a fake plastic look and followed the butler. I already know that I’ll hate Mrs. Barkley. I just know it. She makes me feel like a screw up. Maybe I am a screw up. Thought Nala. No. No I’m not. Mum said I’m not. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Mrs. Barkley eh? Maybe she won’t be so so bad; I guess I’ll give her a chance. But I gave her a chance this weekend at that party. Damn. Oh well. The corridor ended, the servant had his hand on the door handle ready to open it. But he sensed Nala’s fear. And provender a bit then asked:
“Miss Ann, umm, er. I mean Miss Nala, are you okay? Are you ready?” Nala wanted to say no. She wished she could say no. But she couldn’t say no, so, angularly, she said “Um, okay.” Its just one of theses urges you get, like when you really want to slap someone but don’t. But then again, no it wasn’t. It was something and nothing. It was something to Nala, but nothing to everyone else. She readjusted the placidly look and stepped inside the room where Mrs. Barkley was sitting.
Chapter two…
I knew it! I knew she’d be one of them. In fact, Mrs. Barkley was one of them. Mrs. Barkley was a rather short pudgy little woman. With her brown hair pined up in a way that reminded Nala of an acorn, Mrs. Barkley in general, reminded Nala of a fat squirrel. Suddenly Mrs. Barkley straightened her back, like when a mother tells her child that they need to sit up straight or they’ll get a time out or some other kind of punishment.
“Miss Potters. I am very happy to finally meet you!” said Mrs. Barkley.
Ew. Thought Nala. “The pleasure is all mine”
“So,” began Mrs. Barkley. Just kill me now….“I’ve heard that you’re going to build your house on that small island.” What?!? How’d she know about that?
“Why yes, that is correct.”
“And so I’ve heard that you’re in need of a husband, and well I have a son--” nope, too bad, I already know who I’m going to marry.
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