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Chapter One: Of Feminists, Bellbottoms, and Amy

The sun peeked through the blinds, casting the light directly in her eyes. Ignoring it, the sleeping teenager shifted her position away from the garish sunlight. Sighing with relief, her breathing relaxed and she began to drift back to sleep. That was until the alarm blared into her eardrums. She scrunched up her face and let out a loud, extreme grumble.

“Not today.” She mumbled, head first into her pillow.

But…no such luck. As if the first two wake up calls weren’t enough, her mom had to join in.

“Amy Maureen March, time to get up!” She called in a sing-song voice.

“I am not a morning person.” Amy told herself, while ruffling her dark brown hair with her fingers.

Slowly dragging her feet, Amy walked into the very brightly lit hallway, only to find her pain-in-the…ass, thirteen year old sister was still perfecting herself in the bathroom. Amy rolled her eyes, knowing it was impossible and continued to trudge down the stairs.

“Mom, I don’t want--”

Before Amy could finish her sentence, the sweet aroma of fresh brewed coffee reached her nose. Breathing it in deeply, she opened her eyes and saw her mother teasingly shaking the cup in front of her. Amy snatched it from her mother’s hands and uttered a very dramatic thank you.

She sat down at the kitchen table only to be greeted by her mother on the cover of Newsweek, screaming into the camera with a very aggressive looking sign that said, “All men and women were created equal—that means equal rights!”

“Oh, Mom, this is nice,” Amy said dismissively.

“McDown Marketing is one of the most sexist companies on the market. Unfortunately, it’s also one of the top places to get hired. This makes it one of our main targets in this battle.” Her mother explained, defensively.

“All right, all right,” Amy sighed, waving her hand,” but can you at least try to look less psycho next time?”

Her mom let out a small gasp.

“I’ll do whatever is necessary to secure women’s rights in the work force! And I don’t have to remind you about your little stun from two years ago that landed you on the cover of this magazine.”

“Mom, just because they named me the youngest Vietnam war protester doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. Try peace.” Amy argued.

Her mother simply just walked away.

“Feminists.” Amy muttered, shaking her head.

“MOM!” whined a voice from upstairs.

“What is it, Katie?”

“I can’t find my beaded bellbottoms!”
Katie cried, with many dry sobs.

“Honey, they’re probably in the wash.”

“But I checked there! I bet Amy took them!” Katie screamed pointing at her sister from the upstairs hallway.

“I’m four inches taller than you, genius. I wouldn’t fit.” Amy scoffed.

“Amy!” Her mom hissed.

“What?” Amy sighed.

“Act your age!”


“I don’t want to hear it!”

“Katie, I’ll help you find them in a minute,” She then turned to Amy,” could you at least be civil with her?”

“How? She’s impossible, can you tell her not to spend the whole morning in that bathroom—other people need to use it! It doesn’t have to take three hours to get ready!” Amy pleaded, shouting the last part so Katie would hear.

“Amy, when you were her age--”

“It took me an hour, and now it’s thirty minutes. Big difference and I’m not a hot-water leech!” Amy continued.

“Shut up, Amy! Mom, are you coming yet!” Katie’s voice whined loudly once more.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!”

As Katie stomped off, Amy heard her mutter something along the line of “I know she took them.”

Scoffing once more, Amy went back to her coffee. She glanced through the window; Chicago was so dull in the summer. Green everywhere, such a lack of color, she thought.

“Amy, you can use the bathroom now!” Her mother shouted from upstairs.

“Okay!” Amy shouted back, getting up.

Trudging back up the stairs, Amy opened the bathroom door and moved all her sister’s stuff off the counter. Taking a towel from the middle drawer beneath the sink, she rubbed away the steam that fogged up the mirror. Amy set her coffee cup on the counter and grabbed her pink toothbrush from the cup next to the faucet.

Squirting some toothpaste on it, she began to brush her teeth aggressively. Turning on the faucet, she cupped her hands and let the water form a little pool. Swishing the water around in her mouth, making a rather obnoxious gurgling sound and spitting it out…she looked at herself in the mirror.

“I don’t see why I have to go to this stupid international young wizard conference.”
She muttered to herself.

Silently, she thanked God that she was a muggleborn and didn’t have a talking mirror, they just creeped her out. Amy undressed and threw her pajamas on the floor and got a ten minute shower in. She was in the middle of getting out of the shower when Katie walked in.

“Katie! What the hell are you doing?” Amy snarled furiously while snatching the nearest towel to cover herself.

Katie rolled her villainous green eyes at her angry and embarrassed older sister.

“It’s not like there’s anything worth looking at anyways.” She scoffed.

Amy bit her tongue and bottled her anger for the time being.
She fully stepped out of the shower and threw her robe on.

“What do you want?” She asked once more, a little calmer.

“I just wanted to see if you were lying and had my bellbottoms in here.” Katie replied, casually.

“First of all, we’ve been through this we haven’t fit into each other’s close since---ever. And second, I always keep the clothes I’m gonna wear on my bed—you know that!” Amy explained, in the nicest voice she could muster.

“Whatever.” Katie said, rolling those villainous green eyes and tossing her shiny blonde hair. She ripped the door open and skipped out, not thinking about the gust of wind that blew into the bathroom, making a dripping wet Amy even colder.

“How are we related?” Amy asked herself.

“Only a crazy person talks to themselves!” Katie yelled at her from the hallway.

“Takes one to know one!” Amy yelled back.

Amy was satisfied when she heard a little squeak-like gasp come from Katie.
She knew it was immature, but Katie deserved it.
Amy dried herself off and wrapped her hair into a turban with the towel and proceeded into her bedroom, slamming and locking the door this time. She rubbed her hair with the towel and grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that read, “Try Peace" the shirt that she wore to the infamous protest.

Amy frowned as her hair began to curl, but since Katie kept the blow-dryer under lock and key, she couldn’t straighten it. She glanced over at her wand, Magical Mistresses Manor, her school, forbid magic outside, in the muggle world—an international rule they said, so it wouldn’t be any help. Looking at herself once more in the mirror, Amy decided she looked plausible and ran downstairs and hopped in the passenger side of her mom’s trusty station wagon.

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