Chatterbox: Inkwell

Here is a book I started. I would like someone's opinion. This book is based off of my life but it is still fictional. Sorry the spacing is so weird. I pasted it.

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1

Flip-flops
clap

Rain
pitters

Cars
pass by and they splash

The
sound is sharp, but it comforts me

Rainy
Fridays are fun that way

I know who I am: Tall,
shy, I won’t lie, I’m a little conceited. The kids at my school are nothing
like me. They don’t understand me, not even my friends. They don’t understand
why I follow stupid, useless, rules. Why I come to school even when the school
is empty and I didn’t go on the field trip. Why I won’t tell them what the
questions on the tests are like. Stuff like that. One of my friends, Jenny,
every so often forces me to tell her
that I like her more than anyone else in the school.

“Maria, am I your best
friend?”

“Yeah,” I know what she
is about to ask.

“I mean your beeeeest friend!” She nudges me or
something.

I look away. I stall. “Well,
you know I don’t like to rank my friends…”

As a punishment, I assume,
she screams, yes, screams “Edith-Maria Olivia Houndon Grandett!” People start
to look. To me, any attention is negative attention. I have never liked my
name. It’s just too long. The district only has 9 characters for first names
and 13 characters for last names (I assume), so my name usually becomes Edith-Mar
O. Houndon Grande. Substitutes and some teachers (sometimes) say it like: Ed
(not Eed, how it should be) ith-Mar Hoodon Granday. Anyway:

Jenny repeats it until I
cave. “Jenny, STOP.” She is laughing.

Do
you know the reason why I can’t say it? Because it’s not true. And if you act
this way, knowing how I feel, then you’re not my friend at all. Because friends
care for each other. I do it to you, I care, for everyone.

“Fine, Jenny.”

“Hug me!” I hate hugs
that aren’t from my parents but she doesn’t know that. I lightly clutch her.
She grabs me.

“I’m gonna be late to
class.” I run off. We don’t have classes together.

It rained that Thursday,
and today, Friday, it is raining. I walk around the sidewalk for a while in
this hot, humid, rain. The only shoes I can wear without socks are my flip-flops.
I love rain. I don’t find it gloomy at all. I get a sudden burst of
inspiration. I go inside to write my poem.