Awakening to Stardom

I lazily open my eyes to turn off the alarm blaring on the nightstand and my gaze falls on the clock on the wall. It’s just 5 a.m. I grumble and sit up, leaning against the headboard. It's a Sunday, but my alarm wakes me up each time it's 5 a.m. It doesn't respect my weekends and my body is used to losing sleep each time it comes on.

I look around my room for something to turn my attention on and my gaze falls on the books on my reading table but there's also the TV remote sitting on top of the books I'd borrowed to read. "This is hard," I mutter and slide out of bed. Bending over the table, I chant, “Minni Minni Minnie moe,” giggling, and grab the book at the bottom. The cover looks dystopian. “Hard Times by Charles Dickens,” I read out loud and nod satisfactorily. I had borrowed it from Sylvia, my seatmate at the school's cafeteria. I also grab the remote and return to bed.

Pulling the sheets up to my neck, I flip open the first page. The first sentence doesn't intrigue me, so I turn the TV on and glance at the clock one more time. “This Sunday’s gonna be a slow one,” I sigh and wriggle my feet under the sheets as a cooking show comes on.

“Today, we'll be making pie,” says the chef on TV. I immediately sit up. “I love pie,” my eyes widen as I cross my arms across my chest. The chef, a brown-skinned girl with pixie curly black hair, perfectly lined full lips, and brown curvy eyes like those of Asians, gets my attention. She's wearing blue denim shorts and a green tank top. Her apron is blue and customized with her kitchen's name ‘Starr’s Kitchen’. My jaw drops each time she speaks. She looks graceful as she lifts things and moves around. “Someday I'm going to be like her,” I exhale and lean back on the headboard.

I watch closely and take note of everything she's doing. Soon enough, I can't contain the pinch in my butt anymore. I jump out of bed and search my closet for the same color of outfit she has on. I find them and put them on. Then I untie my hair to let it drop on my shoulders the way hers drops and bounces, but sadly, mine is not as long, curly, and soft as hers. I sigh and tie it back up.

I take a few minutes in the bathroom before heading out. I am definitely feeling fly, feeling like ‘Starr’ in her magnificent white kitchen. I am going to recreate what I just watched. I would move the same way she moved and make pie too because, of course, “I love pie.”

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