"What
do you think you’re doing?” Mum asked.
"Doing
my art homework. What does it look like?" I snapped.
"Not
on my antique table, you’re not."
"But
mum, I need to get this done,” I moaned.
"Oh
and you’re going to pay for a new one when you get paint stains all over
it?"
What kind
of a question was that? Of course I wasn’t going to be able to pay for it. I
would have to sell my organs if I was even going to get close to affording a
new table like this. I just stood there, scowling.
“Exactly,"
mum said smugly. "I didn’t think so. Pack up your things and find
somewhere else to do your art work."
But where
else was I going to do my work? There was nowhere. My parents were interior
designers and with it they had more money than sense. The house looked more
like a show room. Each room had a colour scheme to create a "mood"
and give it "character," as my mum had once told me, after I had
questioned the décor. Although, that still didn’t explain to me why it had to
be so boring. All rooms had a neutral colour on the walls with antique,
coloured furnishing all designed along with the colour plan.
The
living room walls for instance, were painted a matt beige shade with mid-brown
leather sofas. A couple of two-seaters were placed against the two walls, while
a reclining armchair sat in front of the window. Placed neatly in these seats
were real, animal skin cushions making the sofas look unwelcoming. However, the
cushions were only for show and not to be used or touched too often- not that I
would want to use one. On the remaining wall a carved, marble mantle piece
dominated the room, polished to perfection and above it a giant mirror, which
apparently "expanded" the room. A huge plasma T.V with cinema sound system
occupied the far comer and apart from the few professional family portraits,
which I hated, the rest of the walls were fashionably bare. The floor was
covered with a cream carpet and in the centre sat a brown, buffalo fur rug. On
top of this rug stood the wooden, antique table from which I had been banished.
Packing up my equipment, I headed up to my bedroom.
My room
wasn’t like the rest of the house; it had character. It was a small room, which
I liked, and nothing matched. Everything was tacky and clashing greens, pinks,
blues and yellows, coated my walls, as it was the only room my parents didn’t
have control over. All that populated my room were my three-chest of drawers
and dressing table along one wall and opposite was where my dinky, single bed
lay. At the foot of it was my wardrobe. Taking a couple of strides over my
untidy floor, covered in clothes and junk, I reached my dressing table. Pushing
the clutter away and setting down my canvas artwork, which was far too big to
fit on my small table, I got to work. By the time I had finished, it was late.
Slipping into bed, my thoughts twigged on the date of the next day. Friday 19th
July - my 16th birthday. With this delight resting in my mind, I drifted off to
sleep.
I rushed
downstairs early next morning to find my presents stacked, with my fry up
breakfast, already waiting on the dining room table. My parents followed me in,
chorusing "Happy Birthday." No sooner had they finished singing,
their smiles faded to guilty looks. I looked up at them from my breakfast.
"Poppet,
I know it’s your l6th, but…” my dad started, glancing at mum for assistance. I
knew what was coming. This was when they announced that there was this really
important business meeting they had to attend, so they wouldn’t be there that
night and therefore I couldn’t have my party. I shrugged it off. This wasn’t
the first time I had been let down by them. My parents weren’t the sort to ever
come to things like my school plays or fetes and I couldn’t remember the last
time they had been there for a birthday party. Work always came first. However,
I thought they may have made more of an effort for my l6th birthday; I was
wrong.
As soon
as I got into school, I explained the bad news to Jessica, my best friend.
"Well, that’s perfect," Jessica gleamed with excitement. She noticed
my look of confusion and went on to explain her happiness. "You say
they’re not coming back until tomorrow, yeah?" I nodded in reply.
"Then you can have a house party. Come on, don’t let them spoil your l6th
and anyway you have the biggest house. You could have loads of people.”
Although
I would get into masses of trouble if my parents ever found out, it was my 16th
birthday. Why shouldn’t I have a party? It was they who had spoiled everything
by going to some work thing; they should be here for my birthday. Anyway they
wouldn’t be back until tomorrow evening — that would give me enough time to
tidy the house and make sure all the evidence had been cleared. They would
never know.
“Yeah
okay," I agreed, "Why not?"
The party
had started and news had spread. Not only had majority, of my year arrived, but
also extra guests from other years had turned up- most of whom I did not know.
Deafening
music, pumping from the surround sound, filled the crammed rooms downstairs.
People were chatting, dancing and drinking, making the neatly decorated rooms
turn into my parents’ nightmare.
The
living room was the worst. The once glinting mantle piece was covered in
sticky, spilt drinks, whilst the carpet had crunched snacks, trodden into it.
The sofas, with their cushions, were trashed as they were covered in empty cups
and crisp debris. Ring marks remained where every cup had been placed on the
antique table. It now wouldn’t have mattered about paint stains and for some
reason, I felt a thriving buzz for the mess and disorganisation; a contrast
from the normal perfection.
I turned
to head out of the chaos and there stood my nightmare. Mum stormed over to me.
She growled. "And what do you think you’re doing?”
Commentary
The narrative is well shaped with
effective plot and characterisation. The vocabulary is varied and well-suited
to purpose. Dialogue is used effectively and, while the conclusion is a little
predictable, the story is engaging and interests the reader. Detail is carefully
selected with the contrasting of the minimalist and perfect décor and the
student’s bedroom and the aftermath of the party. The SSPS aspects are sound
with a variety of sentence types and accurate punctuation and spelling. This
belongs in the lower part of Band 4 for both Content and Organisation and SSPS,
giving a mark of 16.
