The Hoodie Girl

Original Edition: 01

To my readers:

Thank you for choosing to read this story. It is the first story I've written and completed on Wattpad. I'm very excited to announce that "The Hoodie Girl" has been chosen to be part of the Wattpad Paid Stories program.

Writing may be my hobby, but it is also time and energy consuming. It is very difficult to quantify a writer's work, and this program supports me, as an amateur college student still making time to write amidst assignments and tests that impact my future.

The Paid Stories program offers countless opportunities for writers like myself, and I'm grateful to be a part of it. With only a small contribution on your side, you would be supporting me for the time and effort I put into my work.

I hope you are still willing to give this story a chance!

Love,
Yuen

Chapter 1 | A Little Socially Awkward

But there's a story behind everything. How a picture got on a wall. How a scar got on your face. Sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But behind all your stories is always your mother's story, because hers is where yours begin.
- Mitch Albom

● ● ●

"I won't," he states sternly, a dark edge leathering his tone.

"Promise?" I croak, and my voice is hoarse as I choke back tears. I hate this. I hate feeling so vulnerable in front of someone who is as good as a stranger.

He stares at me intensely for a while, deliberating; pondering over his response. Then he says, "I promise you, Wren."

● ● ●

A PROMISE involves the voluntary giving of one's word that, if and when a particular circumstance or situation comes about, one will accept to do what was promised, no matter what.

Making a promise, in other words, implies a willingness to keep it. People commit to promises but never really think about what it actually means. Many people don't keep the promises that they make.

But I believe in keeping every promise I make because I have experienced the damage of not keeping a promise and it's not a thing I ever want to experience again. Trust me.

I frown feebly at my reflection. I'm wearing skinny jet black jeans, and an oversized white tee-shirt. For some reason, I have grown quite attached to this shirt. I have absolutely zilch make-up on, except for some lip balm that I slathered on my heavily chapped lips.

I have tried, in past times, and failed miserably, might I add, to use blush. I ended up looking like I had chickenpox or malaria.

You see, unlike normal teenage girls, I can't blush. It may seem weird but I've tried everything to make myself blush, just for the heck of it. Jeez, I've slapped myself thinking that the blood would rise to my stubborn cheeks-but to no avail. Oh well.

I have other problems.

The senior year is going to go by fast, and I want to make the most of it. If I top my exams I'll definitely be a candidate for a college scholarship. I need all the financial help I could get; it would take  the giant weight that is my school fees off mom's shoulders. She really overworks herself.

I run downstairs on my sneakers, grabbing my files that I needed to load in my locker. "Mom, I'm going now. Oh, and don't worry about breakfast, I'll survive. Wish me luck!" I holler. I'll need it.