Hollywood Secret Garden Chapter 1

Ding-aling-aling rang the alarm clock. Then, as if all alarm clocks had a mutual understanding, it was followed closely by awfully noisy ding-ding dong-dong sounds. Unwillingly extending a small and delicate hand from beneath the quilt, she grabbed the currently noisy and extremely terrifying alarm clock and smashed it against the wall.

Dong~ Amazing! With one STRIKE, the alarm clock fell to the ground cooperatively. The small hand belonging to the body wrapped in the quilt clearly was that of a professional bowler. Except, to her extreme regret, her goal was not achieved. The alarm clock was unwilling to comply with her wishes and continued ringing.

A faint sigh came from the quilt wrapped body. A young, pretty figure sat up. Her long, golden-brown hair was disheveled with some sections sticking straight up as her confused, misty eyes opened. Since she had slept beneath the quilt, her pale, pouty cheeks were flushed red from the lack of abundant oxygen. Her close-fitting undergarments were pulled to the side, a sleeve slipping down and hanging past her shoulder to reveal her smooth skin. Such a self-centered manner of sleeping was extraordinarily cute. This was basically a lethal weapon, enough to make any pedophile infatuated and fall head over heels in love with this lolita.

The little lolita rubbed her eyes. Beating back a large yawn, she stretched with astonis.h.i.+ngly destructive power. In a very bad mood, she growled, “f.u.c.k! G.o.dd.a.m.n alarm clock, not letting people sleep a little longer!”

If a pedophile heard this, his gla.s.ses would definitely shatter completely. Such an adorable little girl, how could you speak so dirtily?!

At this moment, there was a light knock on her door, and a middle-aged Caucasian woman opened the door a crack and poked her head in. Smiling with crinkling eyes, she said, “Good morning, darling! You should get up.”

“Got it, Jennifer. I’m coming.” The little girl’s bad mood vanished, and she adorably stuck out her tongue. Slipping off her bed, she went over to her alarm clock and silenced it with the push of a b.u.t.ton.

“Good. Be ready in ten minutes? Madam is waiting for you.” Smiling, the Caucasian woman closed the door again.

The little grown-up lolita collapsed back onto her bed afterwards, muttering, “G.o.d, I’ve been subjected to this person’s strict schedule for so many years. This really is a tragic world!”

But, in less than a second, she cheered herself back up. “But it’s not too bad. Compared to some of the burdensome things in life, at least I still have something to look forward too.”

Mumbling this, the little girl entered her personal bathroom. Looking into the s.p.a.cious mirror, she grinned adorably, before she lowered her face and saying grudgingly but very fiercely, “Good morning, Miss Mason!”

Afterwards, she went over to the toilet bowl, opened the lid, and reached to pull down her small underwear. Grabbing two handfuls, she suddenly remembered, “d.a.m.nit! I forgot.” She then turned around to sit down on top of the toilet seat, gloomily, “Sure enough, 30 years as a male can’t be offset by only 11 years.”

Although the only sound she made was mumbling, her hands were not idle. She rapidly brushed her teeth and washed her face. She then hurriedly sat down in front of the dresser to begin grooming herself. The little girl rapidly combed her tangled hair and added a unique b.u.t.terfly hair clip, making her even cuter.

She then went to her wardrobe to pick a few articles of clothing—a light green short-sleeved t-s.h.i.+rt and jeans. These things were obviously very ordinary, but when worn by her, a different feeling immediately arose. The short-sleeved t-s.h.i.+rt emphasized her fair skin, and the jeans matched her running shoes, allowing her adorable appearance to become more charming.

“Although the brand of clothing is important, what’s more important is the quality. It needs to be individualistic, but it cannot be too individualistic. The former is sought after, while the latter is despised.” The little girl looked at her clothing in the mirror’s reflection and murmured to herself. She then revealed a miserable, scrunched up expression. “Heavens, if I don’t skip down the stairs, then maybe my mother isn’t a descendant of the United Kingdom aristocracy!”

“Chrysi!” The door suddenly opened, and a very gentle woman with a slim figure and n.o.ble air appeared before her eyes. She had her brown hair swept up in a bun on one side, and her light blue eyes were smiling as she looked at the little girl. Although her clothing was also very simple, her temperament set it off flawlessly. Most particularly, that close-fitting ginger coat gave off the impression of both grandeur and simplicity.

Her miserable, scrunched up face changed to a smile in a flash. It was so quick, that maybe even the Sichuan Opera face-changing technique[1. Face changing is a technique in Sichuan Opera, a dramatic change of att.i.tude expressing fright, anger. etc.] was only so-so in comparison. The little girl raised by this very wise and virtuous woman shamefully said, “Sorry, mommy. I’m a little late.”

“Let’s go. If you dawdle any more, you’re going to be late.” Mama beckoned her, and the little girl immediately grabbed her mother’s hand obediently, following her downstairs.

Bright and beautiful suns.h.i.+ne streamed into the living room that was filled with elegant decorations irregularly arranged. The resulting charming effect caused the expansive room to appear even brighter. The little girl’s mama turned towards the dining table where a carelessly dressed, approximately thirty-five year old man still in white striped pajamas was and helplessly let a light sigh escape from her mouth. The man who was sitting at the dining table appeared was reading with the newspaper in one hand while stirring a cup of coffee with the other, like the great majority of Americans. He was very handsome with his light brown hair, distinct facial features, dark eyes, and prominent nose. Most particularly, his squinted black eyes, like bottomless lakes, could cause people to stare into them with fascination.

“Dear, I think you should dress in proper clothes before coming to breakfast,” Mama said, while coming downstairs with the little girl.

“Well, Mary dear, this is Los Angeles, not London or Bristol.” The man set down his newspaper before quite helplessly voicing this refute.

“But you should set an example for your daughter. You shouldn’t be a s.h.i.+eld for Angela.” The little girl’s Mama loftily said with a shrug.

“Hmm?” The male deliberately furrowed his brows before turning his head towards the little girl. He said, “Little miss, are you using me as a s.h.i.+eld?”

“As a matter of fact, Mr. Gerald Mason, I am using you as a spear.” Angela deadpanned.

“You see, Mary, Chrysi isn’t using me as a s.h.i.+eld.” The man spread out his hands, his tone equally deadpan.

“Fine, you two. Let’s eat breakfast.” Ellie had no choice but to submit to the combined forces of her husband and daughter as she sat down at the table.

Breakfast was very rich. Mm… From an American’s perspective, it was indeed very rich. Oatmeal porridge, eggs, vegetable salad, French toast, and thin pancakes. To Angela however, even if she had been eating this for ten years, allowing her to grow accustomed to this food, she would still yearn for youtiao[2. Deep-fried Chinese breadsticks], soy milk, and jianbing guozi.[3. Jianbing, a traditional snack/meal that’s often eaten for breakfast, is a fried crepe made from a batter of wheat and grain flour that is fried on a griddle with an egg(s) and can be topped with scallions, baocui (薄脆 a kind of crispy fried cracker) and cilantro. It can be thick, thin, crispy or chewy, but it’s almost always folded several times before serving.]

The little girl delicately chewed, before slowly swallowing her breakfast. She ate silently, as that was ladylike. Of course, deep within her heart, she wished she could grab two or three bites of food before das.h.i.+ng off to school, but if she dared to do that, she would be immediately welcomed by her mother’s stern expression that could pierce a person’s heart and give them cuts and bruises all over their body.[5. fig. means to be totally refuted.] Only her dad, Gerald, was able to ignore this.

“Mama, I’m done eating. May I go to school?” Angela obediently grabbed a napkin to gracefully dab the corners of her mouth, her eyes opened wide and gleaming as she looked at her mother. Her greenish-blue eyes were like a pair of precious jewels.

“Of course, precious. Be careful on the road.” Her mother nodded, touching Angela’s face lightly.

Similarly, Gerald also pulled at her cheek. “Dear, do you want me to escort you?”

“Thank you, dad, but there’s no need.” Even though she knew that this man was now her father, having been with him for ten years, she still couldn’t help the goose b.u.mps that would appear all over her body.

Angela took the small schoolbag Jennifer offered. Placing it on her back, she took two or three steps to the doorway. Turning around to face the dining table, she waved at her parents before opening the door and vanis.h.i.+ng like a wisp of smoke. She ran with lightning speed past the garden and down the street before turning back to look at her home. Once she was out of sight, she jumped up and cheered. Afterwards, she speedily continued onwards.

In one breath, she ran a block before stopping. Aimont Drive was the street separating the wealthy district of Los Angeles and the working cla.s.s district. At the same time, it was also where she was picked up by the school bus. Angela went to St. John Elementary, a public elementary school. In fact, as the child of a rich family, she fundamentally should be attending a private elementary school.

But the problem was that, for the most part, private elementary schools were all-girls schools. Not only that, but the majority of them were closely related to the Christian Church. Even though it wasn’t like her past life, where she had an earth-shattering ocean of homework problems that she didn’t finish, having to comply with the strict rules was too much. Especially when it came to the Christian stories about the devil. She had long since been accustomed to freedom in her past life, and she was unwilling to let go of it. Moreover, ever since she was a child, she had been tormented by her demonic mother with all kinds of etiquette training that was more than enough misery. Why should she enter a school that forced her to continue this torment? Especially when Mama had personally chosen the school.

Although she didn’t dare to defy her demonic mother, Angela was very intelligent as she had lived two lives. As a result, she roped in her father Gerald, except she may have gone a bit too far. Could a recently turned six year old little girl clearly and logically preach to you about life and dreams? But she was lucky. That day, Gerald had been dealing with his company, and a slightly urgent matter had worn him out. Playing golf had strained his lower back as well. On top of that, her father seemed to not be interested in aristocratic private schools, so in his rare, muddled state, he supported his daughter’s choice. In this way, she got through the daunting experience without mishap, as he settled the matter with Ellie and allowed the little girl’s hopes to be fulfilled by entering her into a public school.

At this moment, a muted yellow school bus appeared on the street. Angela hurriedly waved her hand, beautifully stretching her body and mischievously laughing in her heart—a beautiful day has begun!