Christy Brown - The Bright Lights

C over design by Matt Stewart.

This book is dedicated to the beautiful cities of Winter Garden and Windermere, Florida. These cities are near and dear to my heart and act as the backdrop for the Bright Lights.

The Bright Lights

Saguaro Books, LLC

SB

Arizona

Copyright 2022 Christy Brown

Printed in the United States of America

All Rights Reserved

This book is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews. Thank you for respecting the creative products of the contributors to this volume.

Reviewers may quote passages for use in periodicals, newspapers, or broadcasts provided credit is given to The Bright Lights by Christy Brown and Saguaro Books, LLC.

Saguaro Books, LLC

16845 E. Avenue of the Fountains, Ste. 325

Fountain Hills, AZ 85268

www.saguarobooks.com

I SBN: 9798491251568

Library of Congress Cataloging Number

LCCN: 2021948963

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the beautiful cities of Winter Garden and Windermere, Florida. These cities are near and dear to my heart and act as the backdrop for The Bright Lights .

Also, I dedicate this book to August, Lela, and Jacoby who are my bright lights.

Chapter 1

T he sun crept through the shades of my window as long fingers of a fictional villain coming to wake me from my dream. I never wanted to wake from the wonderful dream that revolved around him but then, all my dreams revolved around him these days. I wrapped the fluffy purple comforter around my body and pulled it up over my eyes as a shield to remain in a dreamlike state. The plan didnt work and my cell phone alarm swooped in as the villains accomplice to ensure I woke up. Hearing the buzzing of the alarm annoyed me enough to get out of bed. The charging cord kept it from falling off the old, rickety table shoved between the wall and the bed that took the place of a nightstand. I reached over and cut the alarm off, sitting up on the edge of the bed. Still fighting the urge to turn over and wrap up in a cocoon of blankets, I hung my legs over the side of the bed and stretched.

Today I couldnt ignore my alarm and miss my opportunity to make myself presentable. Ever since freshman year, I dreamed of this morning. Today marked the first day of my senior year of high school. I needed the extra time to put on makeup and curl my hair, things I hadnt done all summer long. I even hung up my clothes on my closet door so they would be ready to go this morning. A first day was a fresh opportunity to make a new impression, albeit, on the same kids I had gone to school with for the last three years. Today, every moment counted.

Allie, time to wake up, my mom said as she knocked on the outside of my bedroom door, a third reminder to get my butt out of bed. The lazy days of summer had ended and my new routine of waking up before seven had begun.

Im up, Im up, I grumbled.

You dont want to be late on your first day, she reminded me, her voice echoing into my room.

Begrudgingly, I pulled back the purple comforter that had been on my bed since middle school. In sixth grade, my mom allowed me to redecorate my room. I went from a pink ballerina theme to a more sophisticated purple palate. My room still looked the same. Except for the Robert Pattinson and Taylor Lautner posters, I removed those. Back then, my world revolved around twilight and I covered my walls in Team Edward paraphernalia. Jacob filled a small section. But my heart belonged to Edward Cullen and I had the posters to prove it. A few remained taped inside my closet. I would always be Team Edward.

A couple of years ago, my school switched to mandatory uniforms, making my first-day outfit easy to pick out. The night before, I had grabbed a navy blue pleated skirt, a white polo and navy knee-high socks from the dresser drawer. Uniforms required no planning because everything matched. Our school allowed navy blue, khaki, baby pink or white. With few options, the colors complimented each other even if you got dressed in the dark. With the dress code, I never worried about impressing anyone with labels, brands or an expensive wardrobe but, as with any rule, a group of students hated the constricted choices, accusing the principal of manipulating their ability to express their true selves through their clothing. Uniforms did what they said; they made everyone uniform.

After getting dressed, I knocked on the door to the Jack and Jill bathroom that separated my room from my brother, Auggies. When no one answered, I opened the door and found the bathroom empty. I breathed a sigh of relief. I needed space to get ready for our first day. He would solicit unwarranted judgments over the amount of makeup I wore or accuse me of using too many products or styling tools. I preferred silence over the comments from the peanut gallery.

My hip rested against the counter as I placed my legs in a flamingo pose. I brushed my teeth, washed my face and put on a light coating of makeup. My staples these days had been powder, blush, mascara and lip gloss but Ive been toying around with a little eyeliner just to make my eyes pop. Every year I tried enhancing my look. This year I no longer wanted the other kids to see the freckled-faced kid everyone remembered. This year, I wanted everyone to see me as a more mature version of myself.

As I applied a light coating of powder, I stared at my face in the large mirror spanning the entire length of the bathroom. Luckily, we had two sinks and I didnt have to share. Water stains splattered across Auggies side of the mirror as a disgusting mess of caked-on toothpaste covered his sink. It had been years since hed cleaned his side of the bathroom. My mom grew tired of being our housekeeper and the old chore chart became irrelevant when she stopped doling out an allowance.

The unflattering fluorescent lighting did nothing for my appearance. The girl reflected in the mirror had pale skin without a hint of sun to her face. Even though I spent an entire summer at a country club pool as a lifeguard, my skin complexion remained a creamy milk color. A soft shade of bronzer faked a soft glow, so kids would know I spent my summer in the sunshine. It also helped camouflage the freckles spanning from cheek to cheek. My Irish father boasted plenty of wonderful traits but sharing his complexion didnt bode well in a state known for its sunshine. After years in the sun, my dads skin looked to be one giant freckle but my mom made sure I applied generous amounts of sunscreen to avoid the brown spots. Besides his complexion, we had the same shade of golden-brown hair. Mine hung in long waves below my shoulder blades, the way he used to wear it in his younger days.