Mistinazia

Anya

I've heard that when you begin telling a story, you introduce the characters. I have never narrated a book before, so bear with me if I get it wrong. So, let's introduce the character. I'll let Imogen introduce herself when she narrates.
My name is Anya Thomas. Do I need to tell you my middle name? I'll ask Imogen. She says no. Fine, all you need to know of my name is Anya Thomas. I am fourteen and . . . wait a second . . . fourteen years, five months, two weeks and six days! No, no ,no, do not get the wrong impression. I am not a super-nerd who needs to know EXACTLY how old they are. I did it for a joke. I like jokes.
  One thing you need to no about me: I am a tomboy. With my waist-length mousy-brown hair and hazel eyes, people could think I'm pretty. And sometimes pretty can lead to girly and cute. That's why I wear tomboyish clothes. I am currently wearing a white T-shirt with bluey-grey around the neck and sleeves, jeans and converse trainers. My hair is loose and scruffy. One bad thing is that I'm very short for my age, so people think I'm like eleven or twelve.
My older sister, Imogen, is seventeen, but looks about fourteen or fifteen. I love her more than I love anybody and I look up to her like she's my role-model. Well, yes, she is my role-model. She's clever, calm, kind, generous and is always there for me.
  I don't love anybody as much as Imogen. I used to love my parents as well as her, but they're dead. They died in a plane crash on their way to their holiday to Hawaii a year ago, and since then an empty pit inside me has filled up with misery and grief. That's Imogen's phrase, she's so creative, and she let me use it. She said she has that pit filling up inside her too. I did think they were soooooooo lucky to be going to Hawaii, but maybe not. I wish that I could turn back time and stop them from going.
  Since then, Amelie fostered us. Second-worst thing in my life, after my parents dying. Amelie is mean, strict, unjust, uncaring and downright HORRIBLE. When she's not ignoring us, she is shouting at us and being mean to us. I don't know why she is trusted with children.
She only feeds us disgusting foods, so horrible that I never eat. Imogen bravely gulps it down to be polite, but she hates Amelie and her food just as much as I do. I didn't eat any of the vegetable stew she gave us today, so I am starving. I will go and raid the fridge.
  I am very daring. Oh, yes, I forgot to describe my personality. Daring, hotheaded, funny, tomboyish. Those sort of stuff. Anyway, I need to get on with telling you about the fridge-raiding.
  I creep down the stairs, knowing how dangerous this was. If Amelie caught me she'd shout at me and give me one of her terrible punishments, but I don't care. I tiptoe into the kitchen and open the fridge.
The first thing I see is shining gold. It's a bag of chocolates! I haven't tasted chocolate in over a year, which is a shame, since it is my favourite food EVER.
I take out the bag and open it excitedly. I take out a round chocolate and put it in my mouth. It tastes gorgeous, rich and creamy, the best thing I've tasted and ages. It brings back a memory. I remember eleven-year-old me and thirteen-year old Imogen sitting on the sofa in woolly pyjamas, the fire blazing, eating chocolates and playing board games with Mum and Dad. I miss those nights so much.
  I eat some more chocolates, taking in the deliciousness, until the bag is empty. I grin, satisfied, but what I see takes the grin off my face. Amelie is standing behind me, glaring, her arms crossed, her face red with anger. Oh well. I can  just be cheeky, which is what I do best. I don't care about a telling-off.
   “Hey, Amelie. Your face is red. Embarrassed because everyone has finally realised what a bully you are?” I say calmly but cheekily.
“YOU BAD, SELFISH, RUDE GIRL!!! YOU STEAL MY SPECIAL CHOCOLATES, AND THEN SPEAK IN THIS WAY TO ME??? I HAVE NEVER MET A CHILD AS BAD AS YOU!!!” Amelie shouts, furious. I quickly come up with a new cheeky insult.
  “Probably because you've only ever met two children. Everyone else runs away from you,” I drawl casually.
“HOW DARE YOU???!!!” she yells, her face going even redder. She grabs me by my shirt and carries me up the stairs. Wow.
  “Jeepers, you're strong. No wonder you still survive all the explosions you make when you're angry,” I retort, now upside down, my hair falling over my face. Amelie is CRUEL.
She doesn't say anything, just slaps my face. When we pass the mirror I can see that my cheek is now bright red.
  When she reaches me and Imogen's room, she flings the door open and throws me in. Imogen looks at us, looking surprised.
  “STAY IN THERE WHILE I THINK OF A SUITABLE PUNISHMENT!!!” she yells. I don't feel like insulting now.
“OK,” I mutter. Not that I mean it.