Bashing Trinity

BASH

I am so annoyed with the art teacher who didn’t appreciate my watercolor painting. I hop out of the car without thanking my driver.

Sprinting inside the house with my backpack tightly grasp, I stomp my feet to our expansive living room. I was practicing the same concept last night over and over again until it looked satisfactory.

I admit I’m so bad at art, but it hurts my ego because I’m excellent at every subject. I can play the piano, cello, violin, and guitar with my eyes closed. I can solve math in just one look at the problem, but art? Ugh! I grimace at the thought of it.

I stop to halt when I notice mom and one of her best friends are laughing together. Their voices are echoing in the living room.

They abruptly stop when they notice me.

I roll my eyes. Mom’s beautiful face lights up and smiles at me. Aunt Zoey, the redhead does the same. I smile timidly back at

them, especially mom. I’m already eleven years old, she still pecks me on my lips and pinches my face in front of everyone—it’s annoying. Who do girls like

that I’m a good

my backpack over my shoulder. I almost bump into Kiara, whose standing in the middle of the stairs. Her right hand is gripping

she shrieks

ringlet red lacks is like she has jammed her finger to the electrical outlet—so messy. She reminds me of Nerida. She has freckles all over her face, and

“What are you doing here, goldfish?” I narrow my eyes, asking her annoyingly.

lips quiver. She doesn’t like the nickname I give her, but I like to annoy Kiara.

she grips her sketchpad to her chest. She didn’t meet my

like goldfish, Trinity,” I say mockingly.

fish, and my name is Kiara,” she says softly with a shaky voice. I

a goldfish. You have orange hair with big eyes,” I say, demonstrating how big her eyes are. “And what’s in that sketchpad of yours?” I quickly snatch from her grip.