Would like constructive criticism on prologue to untitled book

[gymchik104]

Prologue

“ Hurry! Turn off the lights!” a girl chirps excitedly over whispers and random bursts of laughter. The candles are lit and I run to flick off the light switch. I sit back down in a circle of girls, squished in between my two best buds. We’re jammed pretty close together, but I don’t mind it, in the midst of everything it’s actually very comforting. I turn to Paige on my right she nods and smiles. Her biracial features are striking and her curly hazel locks bounce up and down like yo-yos as she sweeps them into a high ponytail. All the guys love her. Me? Abigail Clemmons? I’m just the fat girl. Wait; it gets worse, I’m the nerdy smart fat girl. I have Regular dark brown hair, Plain brown skin, Ordinary brown eyes and quirky purple glasses to top it all off. I wasn’t even “down” with my “homies” more like down at Abercrombie. I’m the kind you call because you’re too lazy to do your own homework, not to chat and crack up with till the wee hours in the morning. It’s funny though, I never felt like an outcast, and I had known the six girls at this slumber party my whole entire life. At age 12, it wasn’t a lot, but they got me, they really understood me, and that was enough. I didn’t want to leave Snellville, but at that moment, I felt so elated just to have them here. I remember when I was little and I would let go of a balloon to see how high it would go. I would just watch it until the sun blinded my vision, and by then, it was just a small dot floating higher and higher. When it was gone I would sit, empty handed, wishing I could have held onto it for just a little longer. I knew I had to move, but I wanted to remember every minute of this last night I had with my friends. I wanted to savor every inside joke, secret, laugh, and tear until I had to go the next morning. And even when I was in New York to take it with me everywhere I went, to never ever forget them…. ever. I glance at Sarah on my left. Her eyes are the purest blue, and her strawberry blonde hair flows down to her shoulders. Her freckles adorn her arms and face in all the right places, but she hates the fact that her skin never tans. The only thing that burns when she sits out and “tans” all day are her freckles. She swears she’s an ugly duckling, but everyone else thinks she’s gorgeous. A million to one, yeah, we must be blind. She tries to choke back tears and struggles to give me a much-needed look of reassurance. Her attempts fail and a trail of tears stream down her face, collecting into a pond on her sleeping bag. She pulls me into a hug and whispers softly, “ Abby, I’ll never forget you. You are truly my best friend, and I love you.” Sarah gently forces my hand open and drops a necklace into my palm. “ Now, whenever you wear it, you’ll think of me.” I give her another death choke, and place a modestly decorated shoebox in front of me, carefully putting it inside. One by one every girl puts something in the box for me to remember her by. Danielle “Danny” Jacobs drops in a couple of pictures, and reminisces about the good times we had in elementary school. Megan Stewart hands me a colorful yet comical bowl filled with peculiar shapes and stringy coils of clay.

“ Its—umm interesting,” I say trying to keep myself from bursting into laughter as her expression is anything but humorous, “I can see all the effort and, uh what is it?”

“ Noodles of friendship get it? Megan STEWart ? The pieces are veggies in the stew , they symbolize something special about our friendship. Do you see this green spec?”

“ Yah, Megan they’re all green”

“Well this one is my favorite, it represents 5th grade, matching outfits on the playground, and Shakespeare plays, God Abby I don’t know what I’m going to do --- I wish I could go with you.”

I look around to the faces that seemed puzzled and confused. Why this? Why now?
I didn’t have an answer for them because I was asking the same exact question.
One after another they shared, until all six girls had put in something special. I close the lid of the box. The chatter and laughs of my friends fade into the distance. My former living room becomes the back seat of our dodge caravan. I gaze out of the window into the heart of Time Square, my fingers playing with Sarah’s necklace. We’re in bumper-to-bumper traffic. The cab driver behind us honks his horn, and swings his fist in the air. We deserve it for driving and not just walking like the rest of New York City. I’m not a fan of road rage, but his actions are quite mediocre compared to the action on highway 85. A tear rolls down my cheeks as I stroke the side of the box. I can’t adjust. I can’t adjust, it’s just too loud, and quite contraire compared to the quiet country roads of Georgia. Some people get highs off the hustle and bustle, but I long for a siesta.
If I hear another “Taxi!!”, if I see another skyscraper, if we cross another freakin’ bridge I swear I’ll go out of control!
My mom turns around from the front with a sympathetic composure, “Honey , Is something wrong? You haven’t said anything this whole entire trip.”
I turn my back and pretend to fiddle with my charcoal pencils.
She takes my hand. I pull away.

“I know sweets , but we have to make the most of the time we have here. This is a really important journalism opportunity for Dad . Try to be supportive.”

I just want to go back home.