Yesterday, after college, I walked through the door and - as always - tripped over the post. Naturally, I thought nothing of it. I always trip over the post, because I ache too much to even think about picking it up straight away. Yesterday, however, something was odd about the post.
There was a missed delivery slip. It said that two parcels were waiting for us next door. Addressed to me. I never get post.
My mum dropped her bags on the sofa, then told me she'd be back in a minute and went next door to get the parcels. I expected the parcels to be some things I ordered for my sister, but then I heard my mum shouting for someone to open the door.
The next thing I knew, I was sat hugging two huge, heavy boxes filled with books.
Filled with my books.
I think it's official. I'm an author. An author who's only sixteen years old.
