The Hidden | ✅

Chapter One

I shot upwards, yelling garbled nothings as I frantically looked around my room for the culprit who woke me from my unpredicted sleep. My eyes landed on my mother who stood a few inches behind me, hand over her heart in stifled fright. As I connected the dots, a tired groan escaped my lips and I looked at the laptop before me that had powered off from the night before after hours of neglect.

"Did I fall asleep at my desk again?" I asked, turning toward my mother despite the fact that the answer was quite obvious.

Mom nodded anyway. "Circe, I told you to go to sleep and that you could finish your essay tomorrow. But you said that your transition from a high B to a low A depended on it." She laughed a little, shaking her head, something she always did when she was right about something that someone else had denied. "I doubt you even finished that essay too."

I quickly checked.

I hadn't.

"Well, I just came to tell you that you overslept and missed the bus. So if you plan on going to school, not a suggestion by the way, I think you should get up and get ready because your father and I will be leaving in an hour or two." Without another word, she walked out of the room. Well, actually it was more of a saunter.

I playfully rolled my eyes and looked down at the tee-shirt and shorts I'd been donning last night before I'd dozed off. Though it was a comfortable outfit, it certain wasn't school appropriate. With an exasperated sigh I rolled out of the chair and made my way to the bathroom.

I muttered a silent thank you to the air when I saw the door was wide opened, and not occupied by my father as it normally was on school mornings. Then again, I was late today.

As I observed myself in the mirror, I noted the small bags under my eyes that had come as a result of all my current late night study sessions. They weren't bad, however. In fact, they were hardly noticeable. Of course when I squinted at them...

With a sigh I stopped looking at my face. I picked up my brush from inside the basket that resided on the counter, beginning to brush my hair. It was perhaps one of my more noticeable features, mainly for its color. During my freshman year, I'd had decided that my natural chestnut brown was a little too dull for my liking and, with some wild suggestions from my mother, made the choice to dye my hair white. I left it's roots brown nonetheless. I'd had it that way ever since.

After a couple of blinks to see if I'd properly applied my mascara, I quickly changed into the outfit I'd picked out the night before and raced downstairs, backpack on my shoulder.

My parents were already in the kitchen, getting ready to depart. My dad turned to me before shooting me one of his grins. "Hey Kiddo, think fast!" He threw me a granola-bar, which I barely caught. I looked it over before playfully narrowing my eyes at him.

"This is My Breakfast?" I asked, moodily. "Yep," He began simply with a smirk. "That's what you get when you don't wake up early." I scoffed, earning a chuckle in response. He ruffled my hair as he walked past, making his way to the living room to no doubt get his duffle bag.

We were a...diverse family to say the least. My father was Caucasian. He was tall with brown hair and a stocky built that only came from years of major construction work. He even donned a cliché lumberjack styled beard to match. But despite his rather rough physique, he loved to act quite childish, taking any chance possible to crack a joke or make a jesting remark.

My mother was quite the opposite. She was a short Native woman, Navajo to be exact, with bright, upturned amber eyes and long silky brown hair that she chose to mostly keep pinned up in one single braid that swished behind her when she would walk. She was more mature and tended to have to be the voice of reason in our somewhat playfully chaotic family.