What happens when I'm stressed.

(The following is a long unfinished story Kathryn has written out of stress because she writes when she's stressed, and she didn't want to write in her diary. Please be aware that it is unfinished, doesn't make sense, and Kathryn was having writers block and wrote it part way about a friend of hers. Thank you.)


"Hey, Ryleigh, can I tell you something?" Amabelle asked me suddenly, as she wrapped her leg around a strong tree branch, shifting herself upside-down as her orange-dyed hair touched the grassy ground. "What kind of something?" I asked carelessly, lying down on my back on the ground with my arms folded together under my head, looking up at her. 
"Well, you see," Amabelle moved her legs and pushed herself out of the tree, landing on her feet and sitting beside me, "I think I have these, like, powers." She admitted. I sat up. "You mean, like, superman?" I said jokingly, then added seriously, "yeah, go ahead, tell me." 
Amabelle hesitated. "Well, I can make like, karma happen." She said slowly. 
I gave her a confused glance. "What do you mean?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. 
"I mean, like, well... When people are mean to me, bad things happen to them. Like once, one of my friends when I was little was mean to me. Then her dog ran away."
I looked at her. "That stuff happens," I said. 
"No, no, its happened a lot. One time when I was like, ten, my friend was being mean to me." She paused for a minute, looking for the right words to say while pulling grass out of the ground and sprinkling it down again. "Then she got bucked off of a horse and had to get surgery." She looked at me.
"Wow. That's freaky," I said. Amabelle continued. 
"I know, right? When I was twelve, my enemy did something to me, I can't remember what, and she broke her leg. I can't remember how."
I raised an eyebrow again. "Seriously?"
"Yeah," she replied, nodding a little bit as my mom opened the door a little and shouted, "Girls! Come in for lunch!" 

We both stood up and walked into my house, and sat down at the table. My younger sister, Brielle, was sitting at the table with her thumb in her mouth, staring at Amabelle as if she was an intruder. I took her thumb out of her mouth and said softly to her, "Staring isn't nice, Bri." Just then, my younger brother, Derrick, and Amabelle's younger brother, Antony, walked into the dining room and sat down at the table, laughing slightly while talking in their little code language. Mom swatted jokingly at Derrick's shoulder, saying, "No talk about girls at this table."
I raise my hand jokingly, asking if we could talk about guys. She shook her head while putting sandwiches on a plate in the middle of the table, then setting a pitcher of lemonade next to it. "Can we eat outside?" I asked, taking a sandwich and a cup of lemonade. I hate eating lunch indoors, it always feels stuffy. My mom knows that, so she nodded. 

Amabelle and I were outside in a minute, sitting down at a picnic table in my back yard. Derrick and Antony were following behind us and sat at the table next to us. I gave them both a short glare and snapped, "Go play somewhere else." They both looked at me, stood up and walked away with their sandwiches and lemonade. 
I looked back at Amabelle and we continued talking about her karma thing. I wasn't eating my sandwich, so she looked at it and then back at me. "Why aren't you eating?" She asked cautiously, which made me look down at my sandwich. I opened the sandwich up and looked into it. It had ham in it, I'm a vegetarian. "I'm vegetarian, mom forgot again." I sighed, then offered the sandwich to her. She took it and put it on her paper plate. "You should get something else to eat," she told me. "I'm not really hungry," I replied quickly. 
Then my dog, Ballerina, ran out and jumped, putting his front paws on my lap. "Down, Ballerina!" I said, pushing his paws off of me. He wiggled, shaking his tail and whining slightly. Amabelle was smiling. "I still think it's funny that you named a boy dog Ballerina," she said. "Derrick's and Bri's idea," I muttered under my breath. Derrick, thirteen years old, was obsessed with funny names, and Bri, three years old, was obsessed with ballerinas. Me, fifteen years old, I'm not obsessed with anything, I just love dogs.