This is the start of a little test book I am writing. Could yall proofread what I have so far and tell me what you like about it?
Chapter One: Mail
For the first month after the divorce of my parents, I kept blaming myself. Like, somehow I had forced them to separate. Right. Still, the thought of it was in my mind. And even though I know that I didn’t do anything that could make this happen, it still hurts sometimes.
I chose to live with my father after the divorce because I decided that for the last three years of high school, his house would be the most bearable. Much less rules to follow and expectations to meet. Of course my dad wants me to help with bills, so I have a job at a local diner. Four hours, starting soon after school, of serving undercooked chicken sandwiches and cherry pies to middle class people who tip little if any. Eight hours in summer. Minimum wage, of course.
Dan, my father, and I live in a small home near the trailer park. People come up to our door on a monthly basis wanting to know how to get a trailer. We have tried nearly everything to stop this from happening, but it still does. We are clean people, but my house embarrasses me. Not that we don’t keep it relatively clean, but our yard feels like the playground for trailer park children.
Soon I will be going to school for my first day in this town. I know nobody here and I have no connections to this school whatsoever. Should be interesting.
I’d never even been to Oklahoma before I moved here, let alone Beedle. It’s one of those odd little towns with a high school in the same building as the middle school. Population: 451. That’s not much, especially coming from New York City. There’s not much else except a gas station, a market, and, oddly, a neat-looking little amusement park. I’ll put that high on my list of things to check out in Beedle.
I start school on Wednesday, and I am in one of those moods where I just want to get the year over with. Too bad a year can’t pass in a day.
Dan’s house is pretty boring. Nothing to do but go on the internet or watch TV. Although I doubt changing my Facebook status or watching reruns of some stupid comedy will help things. I think there’s a library ten minutes from town in Tulsa. I’ll check it out tomorrow, maybe brush up on my reading while I’m here.
Dan came into the room.
“You have some mail. I’ll just set it on the desk and leave you alone,” he said.
“Thanks. Dan,” I said, letting my sentence run because I didn’t really know what I wanted to say.
“Yes?” he responded.
“Thanks,” I said, feeling somewhat embarrassed as I realized that this was the most conversation we had had in months, “For everything. I mean, letting me stay here and all. It’s really great.”
“Yeah, well,” said Dan, “It’s the least I can do. I mean, I’ve never been too good with this whole dad thing, so as long as I know your safe, I guess I’m okay too.”
My father left the room. Neither of us were that great with talking, but he was worse. That conversation was probably the most I had ever heard him talk.
When I think of it, it really is nice to have this house to ourselves. I mean, the whole place is beautiful. It’s an old Victorian style home with a wraparound porch. It faces the street at an angle. The corner closest to the street features a circular tower that goes up to the highest point of the house. Windows are on the tower so you can see all around. There are extravagant doors on all sides leading to a yard which is fenced in with a white picket fence.
Inside the front door is a long, wide hallway that leads to the tower and opens at different places to rooms on both sides. If you walk to the tower, you will come to a spiral staircase that twists all the way to a thin storage space at the top.
The first floor has a vast living room which has a huge TV, a kitchen that has recently been renovated, a bathroom with a large shower, and three closets.
The second floor has my bedroom, a master bedroom that belongs to Dan, an office, a small living area which has a few leather chairs and a smaller TV with a couple gaming systems, a bathroom, and a closet.
The only problem in the entire place: nothing for me to do! Dan was always working in his office, and I was always alone.
I glanced over at my desk and remembered my letter. Who would send me anything? Who even knows that I live here? I walk across the room and pick it up, tearing the fold. Glancing at the sender’s address, I see that it is from The City of Beedle, Oklahoma. Odd.
I read though the message. It went like this:
Dear Rhian,
It is nice to have a new resident in our town. We hope you will enjoy your stay! You will find that while there may not be much to do in Beedle, there is much more to do in the surrounding Tulsa area. Thank you for coming to Beedle.
Your Mayor,
Tasmian Mitchell
Tasmian Mitchell
SD
The first thing I thought was, who names their kid Tasmian? Then I realized, what kind of town sends out