A/N: Hi everyone! Don't flame this story too much... and please review! Thank you all for reviewing as much as you have so far! And, I have rewritten this story. A lot. So, those of you who have read this story already, if you look back, you will see a ton of changes! I've changed it a ton, and I've also added new stuff at the end! And, if you find any grammatical errors, please point them out to me!
Chapter One: Prologue
As if life isn't enough of a curse, I was afflicted with Tourette's Syndrome.
Wow, I'm already starting to get ahead of myself. Hmmm, where do I start?
Ahem, Tourette's Syndrome is a disease you get at birth, and it causes the afflicted (i.e. me) to have vocal tics, motor tics, or both. When I was younger, I didn't know what vocal tics or motor tics were. So, one day, I asked my Mom what a tic was and, misinterpreting my question, she told me that it was a little bug. I imagined little bug-like animals running around and treating my body like a playground. Of course, I started freaking out. (Forgive me, I was the typical five year old.)
It took a while, but my Mom finally helped me understand that vocal tics and motor tics were tiny little things wrong with my body. (Although, she didn't phrase it like that... being the young five-year-old I was, I probably would have been traumatized for life.)
So, what exactly were the vocal and motor tics? My Mom told me that vocal tics were sort of like little sounds that would come out of my mouth without my permission... just like little burps except different. Then, she said that motor tics were little parts of my body moving without my permission because they wanted exercise. Yeah, I know, it's sad that I actually fell for that, but little kids believe the darnedest things!
And it never really seemed like all that big of a deal. I mean, I thought it was just another thing that separated me from grown-ups. Like how grown-ups could stay up late, and I couldnt. Like how my parents could say no to vegetables while I could not.
So, grown-ups did not have tics, but I had tics because they were just another little thing that parents did not have to do.
Then, school started.
My parents told me to keep my problem a secret, but problems like Tourette's Syndrome are hard to keep to yourself.
When school started, I finally started seeing Tourette's Syndrome for the curse it really was. I didn't like the way other kids stared at me when I went through a tic. They stared at me like I was a freak. Being young, I couldn't put a name to my emotions or my finger on why they stared at me... and I got mad or upset, which only worsened the tics. One day, I could stand it no longer. I tripped one particular popular girl, a twit named Katherine, because she kept taunting me. Tripping people ﾨC being the serious crime it was ﾨC got me sent down to the principle's office. Nervous and upset, I started twitching and my teacher asked why. I told the teacher about my tics because I didn't know any better, and I somehow thought it would get me out of trouble.
The teacher went and convinced the school board to hold an assembly about Tourette's Syndrome upon my behalf.
That's when I really started to hate my tics, and to distance myself from the other kids.
Tristan was my only true friend. He was the only one who really cared about the person behind the twitching façade; he kept me going when I hated my schoolmates.
Then, Tristan moved.
When I asked him why, he said his Dad was getting a job at some big house.
My life became extremely dull after he left. I was quite saddened when I could only see young, gangly, gawky, freckled Tristan in my dreams. Even after he moved, I would be left with moments when I could recall his beautiful blue eyes or the lustrous gold color of his hair as it caught the sunlight when we were racing to the tree outside my balcony.
I missed Tristan constantly, and called him a lot.
Of course, at first, it seemed like we were as close as ever, but it simply wasn't the same as actually seeing him there with me.
My parents often asked me if I wanted to move, but I always had the smallest, stupidest hope that Tristan would someday come back. What if he couldn't find me again?
So I always said no.
And, without Tristan, school became more like a prison.
Middle school was a terrible time for me. I mean, who had a good middle school experience? Middle school! It's the time of puberty for crying out loud! It's when hormones start taking control! I had the pimples and the zits, and suffered under the closed social hierarchy of Keaton Middle School. Status is everything in middle school. I admit it: it sucks being alone when everyone else around you is starting to go hormonal and you're stuck to face your changes.
It was during middle school that I started to get the hang of the whole Tourette's Syndrome thing. I was finally able to control my tics during my stay at Keaton Middle School. Mind you, it isn't easy controlling tics. It's like trying not to breathe; you can only resist for a short time before you have to breathe again. There's no way of stopping tics because it's like trying to block a waterfall with toothpicks. In the end, tics win and you lose.
High school was the beginning of what felt like hell. Midterms, huge tests, couplings, and dances were definitely not my idea of fun. On the first day of my sophomore year, all these kids started making fun of me in the student commons because they noticed my jaw twitching. I mean, I didn't even realize my jaw was twitching because some tics are just so natural that you barely notice them... until people start pointing and staring. I tried to ignore the popular people when they started talking about me in the table behind me.
"Oh my god. Look, it's that ugly E.I. girl. And her jaw's twitching!"
They didn't even have the decency to use their 11-inch voices?
And E.I girl?! I scowled inwardly that the girl dared to insinuate that I was mentally challenged. Oh yes, I had Tourette's Syndrome, but that did not mean I was mentally incapacitated! And, she had no right to compare me to a mentally challenged person, as though she thought mentally challenged people were less human than everyone else. Yeah, I couldn't help but think about how mentally challenged people had feelings too and she had no right to insult their mentally challenged state because, hey, they were people too. And, being decent people, they had rights to life and humanity like the rest of us.
I whirled around and said, "Excuse me, but do you know who you're talking to?"
The most popular bitch of them all, Katherine, looked over her shoulder at me and rolled her eyes when she saw me. "Ewwww, look, the freak's trying to talk to us."
Yes, the very same Katherine I got in trouble for kicking. The one who got me sent to the office, and inadvertently helped to tell the world that I had Tourette's Syndrome. Was it so wrong that I resented her?
Her best mate, Kiwi, turned around and joined in. Talking in a painfully high voice, she snapped, "God, I know. Shut up! So, what's wrong? Is the special-ed class suddenly too challenging for you?"
I barely repressed the urge to roll my eyes when I said, "Guess you're special-ed too. I'm in all your classes. And, at least I'm not so ugly that I have to cover it with layers of makeup."
That shut the popular girls up pretty well... though it was a lackluster comeback.
Katherine snapped her fingers, and called, "Group meeting!"
With that, all the popular girls gathered in a huddle and started whispering together. I caught snatches of their conversation as I walked away.
I heard Kiwi's ditzy voice uncharacteristically hiss, "She's been in all my classes?"
Then, Lola's voice raised a decibel as she snapped, "Mallory! Have you seen her in Kiwi's first hour?"
"Yeah! God, I noticed how bad her hair looked." Mallory... was acting like the total ditz, per usual. In the popular group, Katherine was the bitchy smart one and the leader, Kiwi was the one with a brain who sounded like a ditz, Lola was the snobby and fashionable one, and Mallory was the ditz.
"I know! She looked like Frankenstein! Like, have you seen the way she twitches? She's got issues." Were they whispering loudly because they wanted me to hear them pick me to pieces?
Don't get me wrong... it wasn't as though I hated my life. I mean, I was decently well off. And, I have to admit and not in any self-centered way or anything, but I am passably decent. My life was wonderful... I just hated the curse came with it. That night, I went to bed upset and cursing all the popular girls for being so ungrateful for their happy lives without Tourette's Syndrome.
I think I was so mad that if I had known voodoo, I would have started putting curses on all the popular girls, their children, and even on their children's children.
Course, I don't know how to do cool things like that.
Instead, I went to bed wishing for any sort of change. I didn't particularly care what kind of change it was... as long as it happened in exchange for my Tourette's Syndrome. I was so fed up with Tourette's Syndrome that I was ready to have anything, ANYTHING, thrown at me as long as my Tourette's Syndrome went away.
Everything changed the next morning.
I mean, not that it seemed different. Once again, I had forgotten to close the skylight window directly above my bed, resulting in rays of light blinding my face as I tried to turn off my alarm clock. As I trudged to my bathroom, my hair was the same snarly bird's nest it usually was, and like any other day, I barely managed to control my hair. I dragged myself downstairs after finishing my daily morning routine.
However, I had yet to notice that something was different.
Mom was downstairs making breakfast when she greeted me with her usual hello; she would always give me this scarily bright smile and a glass of hand-squeezed orange juice, her pride and joy. She thought orange juice was the miracle liquid of the world... yea, she's weird, I know. No worries, you'll get to see more about her later. Such as how she likes French soap operas, and believes in the existence of aliens.
Moreover, she faithfully believes that Elvis Presley's death was fake and that he'll come out of hiding very soon.
Anyways, I swear, my Mom is so predictable in the morning... I could probably hold up cards and not have to say anything because my cards would answer all the questions my Mom asks.
As usual, she started lecturing.
Mom is quite amazed that I haven't gotten boys running after me. I mean, she thought that I was going to have tons of boys flocking to me the moment I hit puberty... in fact, she was so certain that she even bought me my own phone line. Mom was so disappointed when the only one I talked to on my private line was Tristan. She and Dad always had something against him because they had never ever met his parents. See, his parents had super nice jobs, apparently, and were busy all of the time. So, anytime Tristan needed to come over, there was always a butler or a driver to send him to my house.
Um, but back to the topic. Of course, Mom is still in denial and likes to think that guys aren't chasing after me because they are not physically and mentally ready. She just doesn't seem to get that guys don't like biological freaks like me, and she always goes on about how she was the most popular girl in school and how boys would always flock after her.
Hello? Mom, that's what you get for being a popular, nice cheerleader... I, on the other hand, am a biological freak. Honestly. If one were to flip to biological freak in the dictionary, there would be a bad picture of me. My Mom and I belonged to two different species of high-schoolers. Plus, guys never mature, even after marriage.
I've often brought up those arguments, but it has not helped me one bit. She starts going into the whole talk about how I'm not a biological freak, and that I shouldn't have such low self-esteem. Then, she'll always matter-of-factly state that though men never mature, they eventually grow more considerate. Ha, like she can talk... it isn't as if she's still in high school. See, I've heard things get better in college.
However, everything changed that morning. I suppose I should have noticed earlier while I was getting ready for school, but uh, my brain is still in a comatose state at six in the morning. At seven, I'm only beginning to wake up, so I don't think much. (When I do, it's at the mental capacity of a five-year-old.) I was caught up in such a stupor that I didn't even notice my Mom watching me intently.
So, I didn't think it was all that important when my Mom started yelling and screaming something about my tic not being there.
Tired... so tired...
Then my Mom, observant as she is, noticed my lack of attention.
She started yelling in my ear, and I finally comprehended what she had said.
My tic is GONE?
What the ﾨC ? Was she kidding me?
My tics couldn't be gone! How did that happen?
Then, I remembered the wish I had made the night before.
Did it actually work?
I sat there in shock and slowly realized that my tic was gone. I hadn't felt a single tic that whole morning.
My Mom and I sat there for a few more moments before I remembered I had to get to school. Just before I left, I thought I heard my Mom say, "It's a miracle! How did this happen?"
I yelled back, "I wished for it!"
I left too early, and missed seeing my Mom shaking her head while muttering, "Did I really say that out loud?"
If only I had stayed home for another minute! Then, I would have realized that I had been given another curse to replace Tourette's Syndrome.
A/N: Please people, review! They just make me write faster and feel happy! (Yes, it's sad, I know, but I get that special warm bubbly feeling whenever I read reviews - mind you, nice reviews...but if you have criticism, offer it but not in an all out "I HATE YOUR STORY IT SUCKS!" kind of way.)