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Imaginary
Poppy Jackson
Copyright (c) 2010-2012 by Poppy Jackson ISBN: 978-1-300-24234-5
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Library of Congress, United States Copyright Office Jackson, Poppy
Imaginary by Poppy Jackson, book one of the Imaginary trilogy ISBN: 978-1-300-24234-5
Published by W2G Publishing www.Write2grow.org
Cover photo courtesy of Oak Alley Foundation By Gary Dauphin
For Mystic
Acknowledgements
First, I would like to thank my GOD and Savior for giving me everything anyone could ask for and more. He showed me my many talents at a young age. I want to thank all the people that believed in me and cheered me on when I just didn't think I could go on: Mom for showing me that the term "rewrite" is nothing to fear, and for keeping me sane during crazy times and crazy during sane times. I want to thank my best friend in the whole world, Mystic Powers, for being my Rayne and helping design the cover art for the book. To my kick-ass editor, Kevin Cummings... I hope you're ready for Book #2! To my handsome and brilliant cousin, John, who I am so grateful is on my side and who designed my unbelievable website. To James Howard for getting my mom started on the right track. To Mr. Stan Guess... we're going to Disney World. And I want to thank the best band in the world, BREAKING BENJAMIN, for being just that and supplying so much inspiration. And last, but never least, my sister Eryn, who always makes me laugh.
I'm a believer
Nothing could be worse
All these imaginary friends...
- Breaking Benjamin
"Evil Angel"
The imagination may be compared
To Adam's dream - he awoke and found
It to be truth
- John Keats in a letter to Benjamin Bailey

CHAPTER 1
I stared out the window from my desk chair and watched the sun come up over the rows of houses. I blinked multicolored dots. I did so glumly, legs pulled against my chest, chin on knees, arms wrapped around my legs.
My parents were fighting again this morning. You'd think that if two people were getting a divorce and didn't live in the same house anymore, it would cut back on the fighting and they would actually have less to fight about. That's how I saw it, but every time Dad comes back for another box, it's like the bombing of Pearl Harbor all over.
I know that at seventeen years old, you should be able to brush it off like it's nothing and move on, but no matter how old you are, you never want your parents to split up. But the wheel is already in motion; the divorce is almost final now.
Of course, I wasn't surprised when they finally sat me down and told me what was going on. By this time, they didn't even like each other anymore. Dad hadn't been sleeping at home most nights and when he did, he slept on the brown, leather couch in the living room.
I guess it all started last spring when Mom found women's underwear in Dad's pickup - that weren't hers - and Dad denied that he had any knowledge of them being there. He tried to blame it on one of his friends at work borrowing his truck, which later Mom found out was a lie as well.
Because it is very obvious that I can't stop them from getting a divorce, I wish that life would go on normally for Mom and me when he's gone. That sounds cold and indifferent, sure, but I'm resigned. I wish for Mom to be happy again, even if that means without Dad. I wish I could provide some kind of comfort for my mom... that I knew what to say.
I wasn't aware how late I was running until the knock at my bedroom door. I wasn't even dressed yet. I still had on my long nightshirt and tube socks.
It was my best friend Moody Johnston, talking through the door, yelling actually, telling me to hurry up even though he could honestly care less if we were late or not. I rolled my eyes and slipped on black cargo pants and a white t-shirt, then threw on my East Ridge High School hoodie. I pulled on my Vans deliberately slow just to bug him.
"Charlotte, so help me, if you don't hurry up, I am going to break down this door and toss you over my shoulder and carry you out myself."
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