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two
"Mom!" Emily's voice is sharp. "I just said I don't want to wear jeans. God!"
I stop at the top of the steps at the frustrated tone of Emily's voice. Two responses immediately come to my mind. One, I come down and backhand her mouth for taking that tone with Mom; two, I stay right where I am and curse her from a distance. Neither is a realistic option, except for rushing down and make sure a fight doesn't take place again.
When I reach the front door, the tears running down Mom's face are my undoing. I throw my arms around her and stifle my own tears. Hers from pain, mine from rage. I hate my sister so much every time I see pain in my mom's blue eyes. "Mom?"
She gives in just enough but composes herself quickly. "You all ready, hun?"
"Are you okay?" I refuse to let go of her.
She nods. "Just another pleasant morning conversation with Emily. You know how those go."
I do. My mom's concern is the stuff of legends, but neither me nor my friends have ever felt annoyed by it. "Are you going to be okay?"
She says nothing for a moment. When she gently pries me away, she smooths my hair and lands her soft palm on my cheek. It takes everything in me not to ran after Emily and put her in a headlock.
"Don't," Mom utters as though she reads my mind. "She's hormonal and is not feeling too good about herself these days. I think I was the same way at her age. It's just part of being a teenager."
"I know," I offer, wondering why she's so quick to defend Emily.
In the pause that ensues, I'm pretty sure she is about to ask herself how I never took on the teenage angst everyone warned her about from the time she found out she was pregnant with me. I've heard the cliches. Teenage girls are impossible, moody, downright cruel, and full of drama. Somehow, I got through my thirteenth and fourteenth years without any of the anticipated incidents. It's made me wonder whether I'm a rarity among my contemporaries.
"Don't be late, and be careful on the roads."
"Love you, Mom."
Mom returns the sentiment and kisses my cheek. Her smile does much to put my mind at ease and prevents me from choking Emily when I see her in the backseat, eyes on her phone, ears plugged, radiating pure annoyance like heat coming off molten steel.
"Would it kill you to be nice to Mom?" I deliberately exaggerate the shaking of my head when she doesn't reply.
After the little spat from yesterday, I didn't think it'd be a good idea to pick up Stephanie, but I take the vacant seat next to me as Emily not having a problem with that. Even if she does, too bad.
I keep finding Emily's face on the mirror. The corners of her eyes crinkle to match the smile and I resist the urge to stand on the brakes just to wipe off that smirk. A sudden pain in my jaw alerts me to the fact that I've clenched my teeth from the moment I put the car in gear. That's how pissed off I am.
The only times Mom and Emily don't have some unpleasant episode is when there is no school or when Mom is just too tired to battle Emily and gives up by letting her stay home. I've gone to school with a stuffed up nose, weak and sore from lacrosse or volleyball, and I haven't even missed a day despite waking up with painful cramps on the week of weeks. Emily gets to stay home for some of the dumbest reasons.
Emily
I stop at the top of the steps at the frustrated tone of Emily's voice. Two responses immediately come to my mind. One, I come down and backhand her mouth for taking that tone with Mom; two, I stay right where I am and curse her from a distance. Neither is a realistic option, except for rushing down and make sure a fight doesn't take place again.
When I reach the front door, the tears running down Mom's face are my undoing. I throw my arms around her and stifle my own tears. Hers from pain, mine from rage. I hate my sister so much every time I see pain in my mom's blue eyes. "Mom?"
She gives in just enough but composes herself quickly. "You all ready, hun?"
"Are you okay?" I refuse to let go of her.
She nods. "Just another pleasant morning conversation with Emily. You know how those go."
I do. My mom's concern is the stuff of legends, but neither me nor my friends have ever felt annoyed by it. "Are you going to be okay?"
She says nothing for a moment. When she gently pries me away, she smooths my hair and lands her soft palm on my cheek. It takes everything in me not to ran after Emily and put her in a headlock.
"Don't," Mom utters as though she reads my mind. "She's hormonal and is not feeling too good about herself these days. I think I was the same way at her age. It's just part of being a teenager."
"I know," I offer, wondering why she's so quick to defend Emily.
In the pause that ensues, I'm pretty sure she is about to ask herself how I never took on the teenage angst everyone warned her about from the time she found out she was pregnant with me. I've heard the cliches. Teenage girls are impossible, moody, downright cruel, and full of drama. Somehow, I got through my thirteenth and fourteenth years without any of the anticipated incidents. It's made me wonder whether I'm a rarity among my contemporaries.
"Don't be late, and be careful on the roads."
"Love you, Mom."
Mom returns the sentiment and kisses my cheek. Her smile does much to put my mind at ease and prevents me from choking Emily when I see her in the backseat, eyes on her phone, ears plugged, radiating pure annoyance like heat coming off molten steel.
"Would it kill you to be nice to Mom?" I deliberately exaggerate the shaking of my head when she doesn't reply.
After the little spat from yesterday, I didn't think it'd be a good idea to pick up Stephanie, but I take the vacant seat next to me as Emily not having a problem with that. Even if she does, too bad.
I keep finding Emily's face on the mirror. The corners of her eyes crinkle to match the smile and I resist the urge to stand on the brakes just to wipe off that smirk. A sudden pain in my jaw alerts me to the fact that I've clenched my teeth from the moment I put the car in gear. That's how pissed off I am.
The only times Mom and Emily don't have some unpleasant episode is when there is no school or when Mom is just too tired to battle Emily and gives up by letting her stay home. I've gone to school with a stuffed up nose, weak and sore from lacrosse or volleyball, and I haven't even missed a day despite waking up with painful cramps on the week of weeks. Emily gets to stay home for some of the dumbest reasons.
Emily
Forcing a smile when you are not happy is not easy, but Emily has made a career out of faking any degree of joy when she wants to. It makes it easier for everyone else. It keeps the questions at bay, and that's the only time that her fake friends actually talk to her. So, putting on a fake smile for Emily? Easy as pie.
She can sense Brooke's annoyance and wishes she'd actually been listening to her music so she wouldn't hear the acidic tone in her sister's voice, reproaching her for the way she treated her mom.
The smile falters as her mom's face fills her mind's eye.
The all too familiar sting of tears forces her to retreat into the hood of her sweatshirt. It's only going to mess up her hair, but her hair is disgusting anyway. She feels like a rat. Like a wet rat.
"Hi Em!"
Emily barely acknowledges Stephanie's peppy voice. She probably never had to fake being happy. With those blue eyes and perfect teeth, and the styled blonde hair that probably took her hours to tame, what does she have to be sad about?
Resentment mingles with self reproach as her father's voice echoes in her head. He often remarks on her beauty and the bounce of her hair, but she doesn't see it. He probably feels he has to say something nice to her.
She hears Brooke laugh in that melodic, soft laughter of hers that pulls at the strings of her heart and wonders when was the last time Brooke laughed like that with her.
She is not like Brooke, Emily decides. Or Stephanie for that matter. They are the girls everyone wants to befriend because they're not ugly and weird like her.
The reflection on the glass only emphasizes her point. She sees a translucent visage that looks drawn, tired. Eyes downcast and big with sorrow. Chapped lips that she's always biting. She is nothing like Brooke or Stephanie. She is nothing like the other girls in her grade for that matter. She feels too odd and out of place and she's convinced everyone talks about her, remarking on her ugliness. Laughing even.
Emily ignores whatever Brooke asked and suffers through another head shake that drips with disappointment. She doesn't want to disappoint anyone, but she doesn't want anyone to expect anything from her either. Why can't she just be left alone?
"Fine, guess you'll walk from the lot, then."
Apparently Brooke asked her if she wanted dropped off at the door. Now she wishes she would've heard. It would've kept her from having to walk behind the school princesses.
As soon as the car is parked, Emily storms out of the Hyundai, kicking the door shut. She jams her hands and phone in the pocket of her sweatshirt, hitches her bag, and quickly mutes the rest of the world under BTS's Run.
As the music courses through her body like a soothing balm, she thinks how wonderful it would be if she could just run from her life. It would be easy for everyone. Mom wouldn't look so wounded. Brooke wouldn't look so disappointed. Dad wouldn't have to give her phony compliments in a soft voice because he really didn't know what else to say to his weird kid.
Run.
Her feet move quicker. Faces full of judgement flash by like trees on a highway. It doesn't matter that some were smiling. She knows the smiles are fake. She knows what they're really thinking and seeing.
Looking up at the tall windows of the modern building, she recalls her parents' awe. They called it a beautiful school that they wished they'd had when they were kids in school,but she doesn't get it. Emily sees the ornate brick walls, paved walkways, and manicured landscape as nothing but a prison.
Prison, that place where one is kept against their will.
She is a prisoner.
Inside the building, the air feels heavy and the lights are too bright. Emily scurries down the hallways, head down, music as loud as her phone could play it, hands clenched inside the pocket. There's a corner near the culinary arts class where no one goes. No one except for Emily. It's her little sanctuary when the day starts as badly as today has.
Relief floods through her when she arrives at the spot. She doesn't necessarily like the faint scent of trash that emanates from the dumpster on the other side of the double doors, but she likes that it keeps most people away.
When Save Me begins to play. Emily drops her bag and takes up a position, deciding to escape into a quick dance. Trapped in the sound and focused on her movements, she never sees the woman stepping up to her until she feels a tap on her shoulder. Emily nearly screams.
"Can you please remove the hoodie?"
Emily is so taken aback that the words barely register.
"The hoodie?" The woman insists sharply. "I'm afraid I'll have to dress code you if you don't. You know how distracting it is. Please remove it."
Emily runs through a list of names and can't come up with one for this person. She stares, trying to find something to say.
"Young lady, remove that hood now!"
This time the woman's voice is angry that it bounces off the walls and thuds into Emily, but it's the look on the woman's eyes that triggers her. The angry judgmental slant along with the furrowed brows and the tight jaw morphs the initial fear into white hot anger and she squares her stand.
"You're not a teacher," Emily states with disdain.
"I don't have to be. I'm an aide and you will do as I say. The hood needs to come off."
The imperious tone is like a Santa Ana wind on smoldering brush. "No. You don't tell me what to do. My wearing a hood over my head is not hurting anyone and we're not in class for it to distract anyone so leave me alone." Her hard tone is only a mask for the barely contained ball of fear that keeps her from breathing enough air.
"Excuse me?" The woman looks indignant. "Okay you little Brat, we're going to the Principal's to discuss your disrespectful attitude."
Emily stares defiantly at the woman, holding back tears. "I didn't do anything wrong!"
"Too late. Let's go."
The woman appears more confident, which only serves to enrage Emily beyond the point of no return. Her voice escalates into shrills charged with venom. "I'm not going anywhere with you, you bitch. You are nobody! Nobody!"
The confident, imperious gaze is gone, replaced by real concern mixed with a tinge of fear. Emily takes advantage of the pause to grab her bag, hitch it over her shoulder and stomp away. "Leave me alone, you bitch!" Emily screams again to cut the woman off mid sentence.
Stop... says a weak voice in her mind, but the snake of anger has uncoiled and slithered throughout her entire body and she's ready for a fight if need be. Her breath is no more than shallow, ragged sips, and her stomach churns and burns. Bile rises and dizziness makes her steps falter. She doesn't realize she's crying until a sob breaks from her.
"Emily! Emily!"
She stops in her tracks at the familiar voice. "I didn't do anything wrong!" Emily chokes out as her body shakes uncontrollably. "I didn't do anything wrong," she insists more to herself as her actions comeback to haunt her. Defying an aide, calling her a bitch...
Resenting Brooke...
Making her mom upset...
This time she finds it impossible to fake a smile.
She can sense Brooke's annoyance and wishes she'd actually been listening to her music so she wouldn't hear the acidic tone in her sister's voice, reproaching her for the way she treated her mom.
The smile falters as her mom's face fills her mind's eye.
The all too familiar sting of tears forces her to retreat into the hood of her sweatshirt. It's only going to mess up her hair, but her hair is disgusting anyway. She feels like a rat. Like a wet rat.
"Hi Em!"
Emily barely acknowledges Stephanie's peppy voice. She probably never had to fake being happy. With those blue eyes and perfect teeth, and the styled blonde hair that probably took her hours to tame, what does she have to be sad about?
Resentment mingles with self reproach as her father's voice echoes in her head. He often remarks on her beauty and the bounce of her hair, but she doesn't see it. He probably feels he has to say something nice to her.
She hears Brooke laugh in that melodic, soft laughter of hers that pulls at the strings of her heart and wonders when was the last time Brooke laughed like that with her.
She is not like Brooke, Emily decides. Or Stephanie for that matter. They are the girls everyone wants to befriend because they're not ugly and weird like her.
The reflection on the glass only emphasizes her point. She sees a translucent visage that looks drawn, tired. Eyes downcast and big with sorrow. Chapped lips that she's always biting. She is nothing like Brooke or Stephanie. She is nothing like the other girls in her grade for that matter. She feels too odd and out of place and she's convinced everyone talks about her, remarking on her ugliness. Laughing even.
Emily ignores whatever Brooke asked and suffers through another head shake that drips with disappointment. She doesn't want to disappoint anyone, but she doesn't want anyone to expect anything from her either. Why can't she just be left alone?
"Fine, guess you'll walk from the lot, then."
Apparently Brooke asked her if she wanted dropped off at the door. Now she wishes she would've heard. It would've kept her from having to walk behind the school princesses.
As soon as the car is parked, Emily storms out of the Hyundai, kicking the door shut. She jams her hands and phone in the pocket of her sweatshirt, hitches her bag, and quickly mutes the rest of the world under BTS's Run.
As the music courses through her body like a soothing balm, she thinks how wonderful it would be if she could just run from her life. It would be easy for everyone. Mom wouldn't look so wounded. Brooke wouldn't look so disappointed. Dad wouldn't have to give her phony compliments in a soft voice because he really didn't know what else to say to his weird kid.
Run.
Her feet move quicker. Faces full of judgement flash by like trees on a highway. It doesn't matter that some were smiling. She knows the smiles are fake. She knows what they're really thinking and seeing.
Looking up at the tall windows of the modern building, she recalls her parents' awe. They called it a beautiful school that they wished they'd had when they were kids in school,but she doesn't get it. Emily sees the ornate brick walls, paved walkways, and manicured landscape as nothing but a prison.
Prison, that place where one is kept against their will.
She is a prisoner.
Inside the building, the air feels heavy and the lights are too bright. Emily scurries down the hallways, head down, music as loud as her phone could play it, hands clenched inside the pocket. There's a corner near the culinary arts class where no one goes. No one except for Emily. It's her little sanctuary when the day starts as badly as today has.
Relief floods through her when she arrives at the spot. She doesn't necessarily like the faint scent of trash that emanates from the dumpster on the other side of the double doors, but she likes that it keeps most people away.
When Save Me begins to play. Emily drops her bag and takes up a position, deciding to escape into a quick dance. Trapped in the sound and focused on her movements, she never sees the woman stepping up to her until she feels a tap on her shoulder. Emily nearly screams.
"Can you please remove the hoodie?"
Emily is so taken aback that the words barely register.
"The hoodie?" The woman insists sharply. "I'm afraid I'll have to dress code you if you don't. You know how distracting it is. Please remove it."
Emily runs through a list of names and can't come up with one for this person. She stares, trying to find something to say.
"Young lady, remove that hood now!"
This time the woman's voice is angry that it bounces off the walls and thuds into Emily, but it's the look on the woman's eyes that triggers her. The angry judgmental slant along with the furrowed brows and the tight jaw morphs the initial fear into white hot anger and she squares her stand.
"You're not a teacher," Emily states with disdain.
"I don't have to be. I'm an aide and you will do as I say. The hood needs to come off."
The imperious tone is like a Santa Ana wind on smoldering brush. "No. You don't tell me what to do. My wearing a hood over my head is not hurting anyone and we're not in class for it to distract anyone so leave me alone." Her hard tone is only a mask for the barely contained ball of fear that keeps her from breathing enough air.
"Excuse me?" The woman looks indignant. "Okay you little Brat, we're going to the Principal's to discuss your disrespectful attitude."
Emily stares defiantly at the woman, holding back tears. "I didn't do anything wrong!"
"Too late. Let's go."
The woman appears more confident, which only serves to enrage Emily beyond the point of no return. Her voice escalates into shrills charged with venom. "I'm not going anywhere with you, you bitch. You are nobody! Nobody!"
The confident, imperious gaze is gone, replaced by real concern mixed with a tinge of fear. Emily takes advantage of the pause to grab her bag, hitch it over her shoulder and stomp away. "Leave me alone, you bitch!" Emily screams again to cut the woman off mid sentence.
Stop... says a weak voice in her mind, but the snake of anger has uncoiled and slithered throughout her entire body and she's ready for a fight if need be. Her breath is no more than shallow, ragged sips, and her stomach churns and burns. Bile rises and dizziness makes her steps falter. She doesn't realize she's crying until a sob breaks from her.
"Emily! Emily!"
She stops in her tracks at the familiar voice. "I didn't do anything wrong!" Emily chokes out as her body shakes uncontrollably. "I didn't do anything wrong," she insists more to herself as her actions comeback to haunt her. Defying an aide, calling her a bitch...
Resenting Brooke...
Making her mom upset...
This time she finds it impossible to fake a smile.
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