Lost Tempest Queen

Hurry up Rylie!!!! My mom shouted from below in the kitchen. Of course, I had overslept again. Waking up in the morning is not my favorite time of the day. Unlike the rest of my normal suburban family, I was NOT a morning person. I huff as I fall out of bed onto the floor with a loud thud. I felt my temper spike at my older brother Braiden's snickering outside my door. Rushing to get the blanket untangled around my legs, so I can manage to not be late for once in my life. I hear more snickering from Braiden as he heads down the stairs muttering to himself about how I would be late for my funeral. Jumping up as quickly as I can, running to the bathroom to brush my teeth and shower. On the way, I attempt to smooth my Shirley temple-like hair while pulling it up into a high ponytail. I will deal with that mess after my shower. Turning 18 in two weeks, my parents and I are going a few towns over to tour my new college campus. I at least hope it is my new campus my mother has yet to agree to. I toss on a pair of light skinny jeans, with an orange tank top with bold black letters that say "ANGER MANAGEMENT" across the breast. The color makes my weird bright teal eyes pop. Since I didn't dare wet my hair, afraid it would never tame, before having to leave. I opted to run some blueberry bliss de-frizz through it with the hopes this would bring out bouncy curls instead of my natural lion's mane. Failing to tame the rat's nest of my hair, with ever-growing annoyance. I choose to toss it up into a very messy bun. That's the best it was going to be. I shrugged at myself. I look over at the time, guessing that now my mom's head may just explode if I don't get going. I rush to add some black eyeliner and then toss on my white and orange Converse sneakers. I hop on one foot, sliding on each shoe while I race down the stairs two at a time. I came skidding to a screeching halt in front of my mother. She huffs loudly at my appearance in disappointment. I already knew she expected me to be dressed up much more. In her opinion, I dressed like a slob. Don't get me wrong. She is a great mom, but I could never live up to her formal standards. As I look at my mother's disapproving glare, her appearance is always like royalty. Comparing the two of us was like comparing night and day. Her dark walnut eyes are a stark contrast to my bright teal color. Her pin straight light brown hair was so very different from my always un-manageable strawberry blonde curly main. Her skin tone is such a milky white, flawlessly smooth. She was dainty, standing a mere 5'4" tall, and she was more feminine-looking than me. My frame was an athletic 5'9" tall with well-defined muscles. Freckles dust my nose over my high cheekbones. My olive skin isn't as flawless, with a few small scars around one of my ankles. We didn't even resemble a distant family. My mother in her light blue dress with sand-colored sandals, standing next to my father. His straight brown hair and pecan-colored eyes looked at me amused. He was wearing a yellow polo and light brown slacks with dark brown loafers. I could tell he knew his wife was going to express her displeasure with my appearance and tried to head her off with a kiss on my cheek. I like your outfit, the color choice matches those beautiful eyes of yours, honey, he tells me with a smirk. I found out a few years ago I was adopted during a school project. When I tried to talk with my parents about it, they got all weird while acting like they didn't know what I was talking about. I just dropped the subject after a few tries at getting me nowhere. The fact was, they were my parents even if not by blood. I just wished they would be more open about it because I wanted to know why they never told me. We live in a quiet two-story white house, in the suburbs. I don't recall my childhood, but my life now is awesome. I mean who remembers when they were a toddler? I have my first memory. I would say about nine or ten years old. That was my first big birthday party, I am assuming anyway because I remember this birthday in detail. I assume that I had the same types of parties my entire life and, in all honesty, I don't know why that party ever stood out to me. I don't recall ever living anywhere else besides our home now, but I have heard my older brother Braiden mention another house we lived in before I was born. I would say that my childhood was awesome because I was never denied anything growing up. I have had the best out of life and my family has always been supportive of me in almost every way. My mother, Jamie Sue Stilwell is a big law firm CEO. My father is Anderson Allen Stilwell. He's a novel writer, so he's home most of the time, unlike Mom. Then there is my big brother, Braiden Monroe Stilwell, and he's a 21-year-old college student studying pre-law to become a lawyer like my mother. I hear them talking about how he will one day run the company, so he had better hurry up and be prepared. I just feel like that's a lot of pressure on him since I'm not even sure that's what Braiden wants to do with his life. I am 17-year-old Rylie Anne Stilwell, soon to be a college student. I stood there gawking with my mouth wide open in shock at my father's public display of opinion. My mom's face turns bright red in anger as she turns to walk out the front door. My dad looks down at me and his features soften. She's just nervous for you, my love, he says with an exhausted look on his face. I rolled my eyes, not buying that load of bull again. Ever since I started applying for colleges college, she has had an epic malfunction. It has been the same s**t each time I get an offer letter. We take a tour while Mom finds every flaw in the school. She wants me to go to the University of North Carolina Wilmington, AKA "UNCW", because it's safe and close to home. I want freedom, and I wasn't going to get that while living at home. She isn't going to approve I whine at him. She never approves because she just wants me to go where she wants me to go. A pained look flashed in his eyes mixed with a bit of panic before it was gone like I had imagined it. He chuckles, telling me he will try and help her to understand. I nodded with a small smile, and we headed to my dad's F350 truck. Climbing into the back seat, I pop in my earbuds to calm my ever-growing emotions. As of late, I have been feeling on edge like I am waiting for something that I can't explain to happen. Listening to the violin solo piece Scheherazade by Rimsky-Korsakov calms me almost back into a nice slumber.