Chapter Two Story of my Life

I've never actually seen Amber mad before. She's gotten frustrated at times, but never seriously angry that she does one of those typical movie scenes - you know, the whole, throw a shoe stuff. Anyway, the day I returned from my two weeks with my parents, I was pretty suprised (and, concerned, of course - I'm actually a responably good friend) to see Amber's usually spotless room, strewn with clothes and items lying broken on the floor. My friend was face-down on her bed, ripped and used tissues surrounding her bed.

"Yo," I say, poking her hard in the shoulder - which was aparently the wrong thing to do, as Amber suddenly slaps my hand away and screams, "What Ivy!"

I think I jumped a few feet back, and my heart began hammering insanely, as if my body was afraid she'd murder me or something. Her usually perky green eyes are puffy and her hair is sticking out on ends. She glares at me for a while and I stare numbly back.

"I'm guessing your trip didn't go so well?" I ask, my voice shaking slightly. I have no idea how to deal with a sobbing friend, and honestly I was too scared to hug her. Amber lays back down and slams a pillow over her head, sniffling all the while. There is a minute of silent and I shrug. "Do you want me to leave?" I ask.

"Go if you want, I don't give a damn," she snaps. I blink, hesitate and then head for the door, particially glad to be out of her line of fire, yet worried all the while. Suddenly her bed springs creak and there is a wet hand on my arm. "Wait, Ivy, please - I'm sorry. It's just ..." she trails off and her eyes fill with tears. In one movement I give her a tight squeeze and she hugs me back.

"Do you want to go into my room? We can eat the blueberry muffins my neighbour made there, where it's a bit cleaner." She gives me a weak smile - if there's anything Amber can't resist - it's Lauren's muffins.

One we were safe in my room, Amber bursts out everything that happned during her brief visit with her parents, all the while silently crying as I rub her back. Apparently they're splitting up. Of course, for Amber who went to a boarding school and didn't see them most of the year, it was a huge suprise, and after hoping for a great week with them, filled with fun activities, she instead had to manuver herself through their homes and endure their anger at one another. She picks at her muffin, sending crumbs on my floor, but I really don't care. To Amber - a single hang-nail is the world gone wrong.

"So, how did you trip go?" Amber asks me silently.

I shrug. "OK, I guess."

"Tell me, everything..."

I eye her carefully before delving into a recoutn about my holidays, trying to make it sound as boring and miserable as possible, although compared to Amber's, it was pretty much perfect. Ha. Funny thinking of that, our positions reversed, although I never had it that bad. I don't want to go into details about my folks too much, in case it upset Amber once more, so instead I end the story and change the subject. "You know that Brits and Sophie's birthday is coming soon," I say. "They're going to hold a huge bash for their 'sweet sixteenth' - you'd like it, it's a beach party."

"Would I be invited?" Amber asks. Sophie and Amber have enver seen eye-to-eye.

I shrug. "Knowing my sisters - everyone's invited. Even Brock, if he wants to come though." She laughs at our inside joke, knowing how much they tormented Brock on that one week he stayed with me and my sisters.

"You know," she says, still grinning. "That means I can use that new bikini I got for the summer."

I laugh.

There's a noise and suddenly Brock is sticking his head through the window, his hair wet from probably a recent shower. "Better?" He asks, moving through the door. Amber blushes and looks away from him, and he pats her on the back. I don't doubt that she tried to throw something at him. In a matter of seconds he spots the muffins and converges onto them.

"So, now, if your not too full on muffins, who will like to join me for dinner?" He asks, brushing crumbs onto the floor which he then pushes under my bed. I feel full, but I go anyway, and at the dining hall everyone jumps at Amber, no doubt she burst into tears the moment she entered the school. Typically she shrugs off everyone, and Brock makes a face at me when she lies and says her cat died (Hello? Amber has never, ever, owned any animal at all, she's afraid of lizards, come on).

That's just one of the ways Amber works, she doesn't like anyone knowing personal things about herself. Infact, Brock only just found out (it's December now, this was in October, so it took her two months to confess. Two months of annoyance for Brock, I must say. Although I did, kind of, actually tell him earlier...oops?)

>By the way, sorry for the lateness making my posts kind of inaccurate. Maybe I should write in past tense?<

IVY BLACK

Chapter One :: Story of my Life

You’ve probably never met my parents, although if you have, I wouldn't really be surprised. Ophelia and Frank Black both travel the world and have vowed to visit every single little town in every single little country. So if you came up to me and said, “Yo, you're parents scerfuffled my house” (scerfuffled: aka, completely destroyed) I would shake my head and say, “Oh no, not again,” and never press questions about who the heck you are.

Anyway. It’s the school holidays right now, and I'm staying at my parent's house. Normally I'll go and spend the holidays at Amber's house, or stay at school with Brock, but this year, during the end-of-term break, my parents have just arrived back from Laos and their planning on sticking around for a while, meaning I (and my two older sisters, Sophie and Brittany), got to actually spend some time with our folks.

They came down a couple of days ago. By then Amber had already left and I waved reluctantly to Brock through the tinted windows of my parent's new SUV. Brock's parents force him to stay at school. They’re not friendly folks (trust me, I know) and they think every minute they spend with their son is Hell. I watch as he turns and heads towards the boy's dorm, his head lowered against the rain.

“So …” Mum begins, and then delves into an entire story about what they did in Asia. Laos, Vietnam, Japan. Especially Japan. I've always wanted to go there ever since I started my addiction to Manga. *Sigh* Bleach.

It's dark by the time we finally get to Black Wolf Manor, although it's only actually twelve o'clock. It's because of the rainclouds, and for once I really wished that our house which sat on top of Spoken’s Hill, overlooking the town, wasn't so tall. I've never really told anyone, but lightning really does creep me out. A lot.

As soon as the car pulled to a stop I swing open the door and leap out, rushing up the front steps and bursting into the house, the smell of vanilla and strawberries greet me pleasantly. I pass our neighbour, Lauren, who's been house-sitting, and burst into the kitchen where a strawberry cake sat waiting. Before my parents arrive I scoop up some frosting and stuff my finger into my mouth.

I love it here, at the Black Wolf Manor. It's beautiful and reminds me more of home than school ever will. There's a “tut” from behind me and I spin around to see my mother standing at the door, her silky died black hair reflecting the ceiling light as she frowns at the finger mark I left on the cake.

“At least it tastes nice,” she murmurs, and then her green eyes flicker to my face, and she smiles. “I made it.”

I raise an eyebrow, a neat trick which took me around three years to finally master, and you can actually master it, with lots of patience, self-control and lots of time. "If you made it," I say, trying to hide my smile. “Then why aren't I dead?”

Ophelia frowns. “That’s mean; my cooking’s not that bad.”

In a flurry of pink Lauren enters the room. “Not joking about your mother’s cooking again, are you?” She grins.

I shake my head. “Wouldn’t dare ...” and we snigger to ourselves. Ophelia gives us an ungrateful look and disappears into the study, there’s a noise from upstairs and I realise my sister’s must have found their rooms and her busying themselves empting their luggage. I wait until my mother is out of earshot and then I turn to Lauren who is cutting the cake.

“When did they arrive?” I ask quietly.

Lauren glances immediately at me. “What?”

“You know …” I nodded to the study. “When did my parents get back?” Lauren gaps at me like a fish and I snap, “What? Have their sworn you to secrecy? It’s not a big deal! Just tell me!”

Lauren sighs. “Two weeks ago.”

Now I gap at her. “Two weeks.”

She shrugs. “Does it matter, you were still at school,” she looks extremely uncomfortable, and I know as soon as I end the conversation she’ll disappear into her house and probably not return for a while. “They didn’t want to busy you.”

“Right …” just as I say this there’s a crackle of thunder and Lauren looks alarmed. “Better get back before I’m stuck in the storm,” she says and leaves just like she came—in a flurry.

In her absence I glare at the study where my mother is, and I see a shadow move from under the door. She heard what we were talking about. Sighing I trudge upstairs and empty my bags too.

Prologue :: Story of my Life

My name is Ivy.

You may think that someone with my sort of name gets pen-named "Poison Ivy" all the time. But to tell you the truth. I don't.

Sure, there are the times my friends joke around and call me by that name, but the truth is that although everyone I know is far too lazy and forgetful to use that name often enough so that it would stick. I actually get called "Ivy . . . poison Ivy" far more than the former, but if you're looking for a rock-solid name which I get all the time.

Then feel free to call me "The White-Haired Demon"

You may think that this name is regarded to me as "rude" or "cruel" but from a long time ago I let those names fly and I began to refer myself by that title. As if it's something I should be proud of. My friends look at my sceptically when I sign onto Twitter with that name. They're not friends with Twitter anyway, they look at it and think that it's a device used as an excuse to blabber on and on about things that no body cares about.

"Like blogs," Amber had said. "Who writes in blogs anyway?"

That's why I'm not telling them about this. I can picture what the reactions on their faces would be like. First Amber would say, "Oh, my God," and she'll shake her head at me and say, "I thought you were supposed to be the one with the walls?" (I'll get to explaining that later). And Brock will just nod and agree with her, "Ivy, blogs are pathetic. Only intellectual dweebs use it." And then the rest of our day will be wasted on explaining to him that he is an intellectual dweeb.

He won't listen, though. He has a twisted idea that he is James Bond.

That would explain the suits.

Ahh. I can see it in your eyes; you want to know how and why I am referred to as "White haired" and "Demon". It's something I've been kind of avoiding, but when I took that name as my user ID I had promised myself I was going to be honest and I wouldn't care what people thought.

So you might have already guessed, or saw my pictures. But I have white hair … and white eyes.

I have no idea how I got it. My family are all red headed with green eyes and suddenly BAMB their daughter has white hair and demonic eyes, it's odd, and I've been to a number of different schools and towns where people look at me and they block me out because I look different.

But, of course, I still have Amber and Brock.

I first met Amber when I started boarding school at the age of ten, there were only a few people in my grade and we were forced as partners for a sack race. But no body wanted to be my partner. There was one girl who was absolutely horrid to me and before I could defend myself Amber had swooped in and announced, loudly, that she'd me my partner.

We befriended Brock very much the same way. Brock comes from a posh family and dresses in a suit with a long, black coat, he has broad shoulders and a musclier body which is why he is so large, and as soon as the other kids started paying out his accent Amber and I swooped in to save him.

You can say we became friends out of a pity party. But we've never been separated since.

"Ivy!" That's Amber, slamming her slender hands into the locked door of my dorm. She's not used to being locked out, I can imagine that any moment she'll be attempting to climb through the window.

I suppose then I should better go.

Before she finds this, of course.
Until next time.

Story of my Life.

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