Not Like Her by TNae Wilcox (e reader txt) 📕

PLEASE GIVE FEEDBACK. THIS IS THE PROLOGUE FOR MY NOVL AND I WANT TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK. (BE HONEST)

Prologue

Trina was waiting for me in front of the school building, where we met everyday after school to walk home. “You should have seen Michael’s face when Kathy spilled her pop on his shoes,” Trina said, laughing. “I thought he was going too. . .”

“Do you know how to pick a lock?” I asked, eyes fixed on the gas station we were approaching.

“No. So anyway, after Kathy tried to apologize, he took the cup out of her hand and poured the rest-”

“Do you know anybody who knows how to?” I interrupted again.

“No.” Trina put her hands on her hips. “What is wrong with you? You been acting really weird and secretive. And what’s with all the mosquito bites and scratches all on your arm?”

“I need to go into the gas station,” I said, ignoring her questions.

“I’ll wait out here; I can’t stand the smell of their hot dogs.”

I left Trina standing by the gas pumps. I couldn’t tell her what I was doing. I knew she would disagree with it, that she’d talk about all the reasons why I shouldn’t do it. I didn’t need her negativity right now. This was something I had to do.

“You want a hot dog?” The gas attendant asked. When my eyes wandered from the items behind the glass to him, they fell right on his extremely, wrinkled forehead. He was old, close to extinction old.

I raised my eyebrows. “That sounds yummy, but I think I’ll pass. Do you have any black ski masks?”

“Ski masks, this time of the year?” he asked, suspiciously. I smiled, and he looked at me for a minute, then turned and pulled out a box from under the counter. He took out a ski mask. “One ninety-nine,” he said. I paid him and walked out. Trina watched me as I held the mask up to examine it, then tucked it away into my bag.

“Did you just go in there and buy a ski mask?” she asked. I nodded. “You planning a robbery?” she pressed. “You know what, never mind. I don’t want to be an accessory to whatever you're planning.”

I wanted to change the subject. “So did Janice and Calvin leave already?”

“Yeah, they left last night so he could start work tomorrow.”

“I’m going to miss my sister and brother.” I said, pretending to cry.

“You mean my sister and her boyfriend. He’s not married in yet, don’t make him feel comfortable in his current status. It’s time for them to get married.”

“Yeah, it is. And I’ll be the flower girl.”

“Aren’t you a little too old to be the flower girl?” Trina asked, laughing.

“No. Besides the bride, the flower girl is the only other person who walks down the aisle by herself.”

“Good luck with running that past Janice.”


My mom was singing again. I tiptoed down the stairs behind the couch that she slouched on and when she turned her head, I froze. “Going out?” she asked.

“It’s Wednesday”

“Oh yeah--” she sighed, cracking open a new bottle of wine. “Church. You should stay here with me. I’ll even pour you a couple glasses.” She laughed.

I looked down. “Do you want to go with me?” I walked over to the couch and stood in front of her.

She was extremely thin. My mom’s build was always perfect to me, but in the past months it had withered away to almost nothing. Her eyes were sunken and there were bags under them. The hair around her edges were going bald and she had in the same ponytail I begged her to let me put in from two weeks ago.

She gave me a half smile and sipped on her wine glass. “Why, so I can pray to someone who doesn’t care about me like you and Grand?”

Grand was otherwise known as Lydia. My grandmother and her were best friends before my grandma died. Grandma died before I was born and Grand took my mom in.

“Why do you think God doesn’t care about you?”

She swirled the wine in her glass. “I told God if He brought your father back, I would stop drinking. Now look at me,” she waved her bottle at me. “Can you guess how many of these I’ve been through this week?” She smiled, but her eyes watered.

“That doesn’t mean He doesn’t care.”

“Yes it does,” she continued to play with her wine glass, spinning it between her fingers. “No one cares about me.”

I frowned. I was tired of having this conversation with her. No matter how many times I told her I loved her, she insisted I didn’t. It made me upset. I’m not going through this tonight. I started toward the door.

“Tiff. . .” she called and I stopped to look back at her. “You’re too young to be serious about God right now.” She picked up her box of cigarettes. “You’ll have enough time for that. Live your life, you only get one.”

“If you won’t go out, you should at least try calling Regina again.” I left.


This wasn’t who I was, but I had to do it. My mom had talked about the memory three times in the last week. She needed something to lift her spirits. Within the year she’d become depressed and an alcoholic. I didn’t know what else to do. I was fourteen, fatherless, and, for the last ten months, motherless.

I was grateful for all the bushes that surrounded the home, even though they were prickly and filled with mosquitoes. There was plenty of cover for me to move between three floor windows facing the backyard. I’d been watching the house for weeks. A few days ago, I noticed someone walking into the garage without having to unlock it. I was hoping that it was still unlocked.

They weren’t home right now. They always came home late on Tuesdays. I looked around for a few minutes before throwing my small bag over the fence, then I looked around one more time and jumped over.

I knelt down as far as possible and ran as fast as I could. Bush to bush, bush to garage door. I turned the knob quickly, and it opened. I pulled out my flashlight and looked around. There was a work bench on the other side of a dusty Buick. I went over to the work bench and went through everything. Nothing.

It has to be in here somewhere, I thought, referring to the small, metal box I saw being carried in here two weeks ago. He must have took it back in the house. Why would it be in the car? I should look anyway. The car was old, and I was sure there was no alarm system on it. The back passenger automated lock didn’t work, so unless someone had remembered to manually lock it, I was in.

I pulled the rusted handle, and the door opened. I climbed in and up to the driver’s seat, felt around under the front seat, and bingo, there it was. I pulled the box out and sat there looking at it. I teared up as I opened it, revealing it’s contents. I scrambled through the pictures and took the one I was looking for. I wished I had time to sit and go through all of them, but I didn’t. I stashed the box back where it was and left. I’m done here.


Usually, when I walk in the house I go straight to my room. This time, when I opened the back door, I could hear the TV in the living room frying. She must have been drinking again.

“Mom,” I called and waited. No answer. I walked to the living room and turned on the light. “Mama?” I called again. Still nothing. I flicked the TV off and started upstairs when I saw a note sitting up under the wine bottle she was drinking. She actually went out. I picked up the note to read it.

My eyes bucked when I read the last sentence. “Mom!” I yelled, going through the kitchen and den. I tried calling her phone. When I heard it ringing, I followed it upstairs and into the bathroom where I found her. My heart felt like it was going to pound out of my chest. “No!”

I ran to her, trying to be careful not to slip on the puddle of water that ran from the tub. I turned the water off and shook her. I called 911 and stared at the empty pill bottle on the floor next to the tub until I heard sirens. She laid there, eyes closed and body lifeless. I had to watch her being carried out in a body bag.

As long as I‘ve been going to church with Grand, I‘d never been baptized. She made sure after I moved in, that was top priority. “I’m giving you back to the Lord.” Grand told me. “When you’re out of the house, you’ll be glad I did.” Fair warning maybe, but I wasn’t ready for today. I was nervous and angry that I didn’t have a choice. I mean, shouldn’t baptism be a personal thing?

When it was time for Altar call, Trina looked over at me with a teasing smirk. She was baptized when she was twelve, so she knew the procedure. One of the ladies that worked with the baptismal candidates motioned me to follow her. I could feel anger swelling up in me again. This isn't how it should be. Wouldn't God appreciate it if this was done when it was my choice?

“The Bible says ‘raise them in the way they should go’. It doesn't say anything about asking the kid if it’s okay with them,” I muttered as I remembered the conversation I’d had with Grand the day before. “When you move out, you make your own choices, but as for me and my house-”

“Are you okay? Ready to do it?” the lady asked after knocking on the changing room door. I delayed in responding. I wanted to say no, but it wasn’t really worth the dispute that would occur when Grand and I got home.

I inhaled and exhaled loudly, and stepped out of the dressing room. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” I said, forcing a smile. The woman escorted me up the stairs and I looked down at my feet, making sure I wouldn’t trip while descending into the pool. Down the carpeted stairs I went, stepping into the water. It started crawling up the baptismal robe immediately. It was cold.

I could hear people in the audience whispering, and it only made the situation worse. I was quivering not only because the water was cold, but because I hated to be in front of crowds.

The older man who was doing the baptismal was one I wasn’t particularly fond of. He was the deacon that always had a comment on what I wore to church. Whenever he saw me, he would always suggest how a young lady should dress in looser and less revealing clothing, and don’t get him started on hoop earrings.

What if he makes a mistake and drops me, I can’t swim. What if nothing happens after I go