Critique! :) [updated again]

Unnamed Story wrote:I make my way out of the dusty old library at the back of the building. Mrs. Palte, sitting in the rocking chair, doesn't bother to look at me with her ancient green eyes to say goodbye. Soren hisses at me from his cage as I walk down the hallway. Stupid lizard.
When I get to the main part of the coffee shop, Damien looks at me. "Going anywhere?"
"Yes," I say, looking out at the rain. "Home. Mum will be waiting for me. We have guests over for supper today." I hold the paper bag in my hand, hoping he won't look at it.
He doesn't. "Will I see you tomorrow? Wait – of course I will." He grins at me and turns his attention to a woman asking for more sugar for her coffee.
The bell on the door chimes as I push my way out. I forgot my umbrella today, but there's nothing I can do about that. The raindrops are a nice change to the heat from inside, but my back hurts. I've had a long day, that's probably why. Mum wanted me to be home by six, but I know I'm already late.
Cars honk their way through the traffic on the road and I walk slowly, stepping in every puddle there is. By the time I get to the house, my feet are soaked.
Mum looks at me with disgust when I come home, but I hurry to my room. "Brenna!" she yells down the hallway. "Come to supper!"
Instead of enduring through a meal with her acquaintances from work, I sit down on my bed and pull my socks off, wiggling my toes in the air. Then I pull the dusty old book out of my bag and flip it open.
That's part one. I need this book, and there's no way they would have given it to me. So I stole it. I'll return it tomorrow, first shift, and no one will notice.
"Chapter 13," I whisper. I've memorized where to go by heart. I flip two pages until I get to a large subheading, and read from there on.
About half an hour later, Mum opens the door to my room. "What are you reading?" she asks. Her voice is tight and unhappy.
I quickly toss the book to the floor and inwardly wince as I see a miniscule scratch streak its way through the leather. "Nothing," I say quickly, then get up. "Shall I come to supper?"
"It's already over," she says, glaring at me. "Make your own food if you want. I don't care." She storms out of the room in a huff and I roll my eyes.
After putting the book back in the bag, still trying to comprehend what exactly I have read, I lie down on my bed. Homework can wait for tomorrow or Sunday. My back still aches, and now my shoulders are starting to sting, too.
When I reach my hands to my back to see what's wrong, I feel something. No, I must be dreaming. I stand up and look at the mirror on the closet in front of me, turning around until I can see my back in the mirror.
A pair of tiny black wings sprout out of my back, through a rip in my sweater. My hand glides over the soft feathers, and I realize I can feel it.
I stand there for a few minutes, and then I get the sense to compare what's on my back to what's in the book. I flip it open to the exact page I need. Tracing the diagram, I know my wings are exactly like what's on the paper.
With some effort, I get through the evening. Mum looks at me funny when I say I'm going to bed at eight in the evening on a Friday, but I still do.
When I lie in bed and stare up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling, I don't know what to think. I drift off to sleep quickly, but I don't leave the wings behind when I fall into my dream.
I wake up much to early for a Saturday morning. The first thing that I do is reach towards my back – the wings are still there. Still groggy, I amble over to the bathroom. In the mirror I see the wings peeking over my shoulders and I bite my lip to stop myself from crying.
I can't decide if this is good or bad, but the only person I have to blame is Damien. I rush into my room and pull a sweater over my pajama tops and change into jeans. My wings feel constricted and chained against my back, but it's better than letting anyone see them.
A knock comes from my door. “Brenna?” asks Mum. When she opens the door I'm sitting at my desk, acting like I'm studying. “Why are you up so early?” She still looks mad because of what I did last night, but she's still groggy.
“Um- uh- I have a test on... Monday. Yes, that's it. A test. I have to do well on it.” I'm usually a good liar but I'm just too overwhelmed to think of anything good.
She looks at me quizzically, but shrugs and takes a step out of the doorframe. “If you need anything,” she says, yawning, “I'll be downstairs.”
When she closes the door behind her, I breathe a sigh of relief – she didn't notice my wings, and she believed the lie.
I pick up the book from where it lies overturned at the bottom of my bed. One page has been creased, but it's not like anyone will notice. I flip through the pages and breathe in the earthy old book smell. The diagrams and illustrations of wings, claws, and streamlined feathers make me clap the book shut.
“That's enough,” I say to myself. Steadying myself before I start to hyperventilate, I listen for the sounds downstairs. Mum's watching the telivision, so I'll be able to sneak past her easily.
When I sneak out of the door a few minutes later into the rain, I start to think of the million things I have to say to Damien. The only problem is that none of them sound right.
I push the door in and smell the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and a thick layer of dust. The clock on the wall reads 7:13. I fumble with the paper bag in my hand, focusing on the floor.
Suddenly, Damien's standing right in front of me. “Brenna!” he says, but he doesn't look surprised. My shift starts at 8:30 and I'm not the kind of person to come early – if anything, I come late.

Arianna wrote:Please critique on plot, grammar and spelling, flow, characters, and everything else. (:

Unnamed Story wrote:I make my way out of the dusty old library at the back of the building. {seems like a bit of a run-on sentence.} Mrs. Palte, sitting in the rocking chair, {where?} doesn't bother to look at me with her ancient green eyes to say goodbye. Soren hisses at me from his cage as I walk down the hallway. Stupid lizard.

When I get to the main part of the coffee shop, Damien looks at me. "Going anywhere?" *he asks/says.*
"Yes," I say, looking out at the rain. "Home. Mum will be waiting for me. We *are having* guests over for supper *tonight*." I hold the paper bag in my hand, hoping he won't look at it.

He doesn't. "Will I see you tomorrow?*" he asks (hopefully). "*Wait – of course I will."
He grins at me and turns his attention to a woman asking for more sugar for her coffee.
The bell on the door chimes as I push my way out. I *had forgotten* my umbrella today, but there *is* nothing I can do about that. The raindrops are a nice change *from* the heat {unneeded} inside, but my back hurts. I've had a long day, *so* that's probably why. Mum wanted me to be home by six, but I know I'm already late.

Cars honk their way through the traffic on the road and I walk slowly, stepping in every puddle there is *on the sidewalk*. By the time I get to the house, my feet are soaked.
Mum looks at me with disgust when I come home, but I hurry to my room.
"Brenna!" she yells down the hallway. "Come to supper!"

Instead of enduring through a meal with her acquaintances from work, I sit down on my bed and pull my socks off, wiggling my toes in the air. Then I pull the dusty old {used the same adjectives for the library} book out of my bag and flip it open.

That's part one. {What does that mean? Part one of what?} I *needed* this book, and there *was* no way they would have given it to me. So I stole it. I'll return it tomorrow, first shift, and no one will notice. "Chapter 13," I whisper. *I know the book* by heart. I flip two pages until I get to a large subheading, and read *on from there*.

About half an hour later, Mum opens the door to my room. "What are you reading?" she asks. Her voice is tight and unhappy. I quickly toss the book to the floor and inwardly wince as I see a miniscule scratch streak its way *up* through the leather.
"Nothing," I say quickly, then *stand* up. "Shall I come to supper?"
"It's already over," she says, glaring at me. "Make your own food if you want. I don't care." She storms out of the room *and slams the door.* {unneeded} I roll my eyes.

*I put* the book back in the bag, still trying to comprehend what exactly I *just* read, and I lie down on my bed. Homework can wait for tomorrow or Sunday. My back still aches, and now my shoulders are starting to sting, too.
When I reach my hands *around* to my back to see what's wrong, I feel something. *No.* I must be dreaming.

I stand up and look at the mirror on the closet in front of me, turning around until I can see my back {unneeded}. A pair of tiny black wings sprout out of my back {or "beneath my shoulder blades"}, through a rip in my sweater. My hand glides over the soft feathers, and I realize I can feel it.

I stand there for a few minutes before* I get the sense to compare what's on my back to what's in the book. I flip it open to the exact page I need. Tracing the diagram, I know *that* my wings are exactly like what's on the paper.

With some effort, I get through the evening. Mum looks at me funny when I say I'm going to bed at eight *o'clock* in the evening on a Friday, but I still do.

When I lie in bed and stare up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling, I don't know what to think. I drift off to sleep quickly, but I don't leave the wings behind when I fall into my dream.
I wake up much *too* early for a Saturday morning. The first thing {unneeded} I do is reach *behind* my back*; but* the wings are still there. Still groggy, I amble over to the bathroom. In the mirror I see the wings peeking over my shoulders and I bite my lip to stop myself from crying.

I can't decide if this is good or bad, but the only person I have to blame is Damien. I rush into my room and pull a sweater over my pajama *top* and change into jeans. My wings feel constricted and chained *inside the sweater*, but it's better than letting anyone see them.

A knock *sounds on* my door. “Brenna?” *It's* Mum. When she opens the door I'm sitting at my desk, acting like I'm studying.
“Why are you up so early?” She still looks mad because of what I did last night, but {unneeded} groggy *from sleep*.

“Um- uh-" *I stutter,* "I have a test on... Monday. Yes, that's it. A test. I have to do well on it.” I'm usually a good liar but I'm just too overwhelmed to think of anything *convincing*.

She looks at me quizzically, but shrugs and takes a step out of the *doorway*. “If you need anything, I'll be downstairs.” *she says, yawning.*
When she closes the door behind her, I breathe a sigh of relief*;* she didn't notice my wings, and she believed the lie.

I pick up the book from where it lies*,* overturned at the bottom of my bed. One page has been creased, but it's not like anyone will notice. I flip through the pages and breathe in the earthy old book smell. The diagrams and illustrations of wings, claws, and streamlined feathers make me clap the book shut.

“That's enough,” I say {unneeded}. Steadying myself before I start to hyperventilate, I listen for the sounds downstairs. Mum's watching the telivision, so I'll be able to sneak past her easily.

When I sneak out of the door a few minutes later into the rain, I start to think of the million things I have to say to Damien. The only problem is that none of them sound right.

I push the door in {where?} and smell the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and a thick layer of dust. The clock on the wall reads 7:13 *am*. I fumble with the paper bag in my hand, focusing on the floor. Suddenly, Damien *is* standing right in front of me. “Brenna!” he says, but he doesn't look surprised. My shift starts at 8:30 and I'm not the kind of person to come early*;* if anything, I come late.