Weeds

-Two hours later-

Right. So where was I?

Oh.

Okay. So here goes. I'm gonna start with a hook....'cause that's what we're working on in English class, right now. Hell, this is is pretty good practice, eh? Hmmm.... Right. Zis brilliant hook ees delivered to you by Jordan, Hook-Expert. (That sounds slightly dirty...)

Anything that anyone tells you is true about the world is a lie.

A lie.

A fucking lie.

Not always a devastating lie, though.

Sometimes it’s good.

Like that woman.

The lie was: ‘rich women with jackass sons are bitches to be avoided at all costs.’

The truth behind that is this:

‘I haven’t a freaking clue.’

The woman took me into the kitchen and invited me to sit at the bar. I moved as though treading on glass: terrified of being sliced open.

“Would you like something to eat?” she asked, like a good, little hostess, eyeing me with a strange expression.

My stomach chose then to make itself heard, and I remembered that I hadn’t eaten any breakfast. Oops. Nerves had driven any thoughts of food right out of my mind, I guess. How odd.

She was a mother, though, and didn’t need any word of confirmation to know what was running through my head. She bustled around the kitchen, pulling open drawers and slamming cabinet doors until, like magic, she dropped a plate of fried chicken in front of me.

I blinked.

“It’s leftover,” she admitted apologetically.

“It’s fine,” I hurried to reassure her. “Thank you.”

After these words, an awkward silence crept from the corners and bubbled from the grout between the ceramic tiles, making the air thick and tough. I munched on the chicken; she picked at her manicure.

Just as the vat of awkwardness was about to dissolve the very flesh from my bones, she cleared her throat. “I—“ she started, then spun away. Out of the fridge, she pulled a heavy jug. Then, slowly, she ambled to a cabinet and pulled out a fine, crystal glass. She poured the juice for me with an agonizing slowness. Her eye caught mine. “Um.” She made a funny huffing sound. “This is going to sound strange. But…you reminded me of someone. You, um, took me by a bit of a surprise when I saw you sitting there next to Taylor, like that.”

In a sudden rush of energy, she dropped her elbows on the counter and leaned toward me eagerly. “She had known a boy that looked a lot like Taylor, too. They never went anywhere without one another. Joined at the hip, they were. She—she was—“ Her eyes went distant. “My whole world. She was my best friend. Of course, it wasn’t what was considered normal, so we met a lot of resistance. Her crowd poked fun because she hung with a 'rich bitch,' and my friends turned up their noses at the ‘ugly dyke.’ But you know, we didn’t care all that much.” Her eyes snapped to mine. “You look a lot like her, you see. Your face, your stature, your hair, the look in your eyes… You’re beautiful, just like her.”

I blinked. What the hell?

She noticed my not-so-encouraging reaction and her face went bright red. “Oh. I’m sorry. It must be so strange, you know, that I just happened to dump practically my whole life story on you when you hardly know me, but, I mean, like I said, I was just in utter shock when I opened that door, and—“

She’s one of those people who talk a lot when they’re nervous, you see.

“Shhhhh….” I found myself hissing before I even realized that I’d moved my mouth. People like that annoy the hell out of me.

She snapped her mouth shut, her eyes widening in surprise.

“It’s okay,” I amended quickly. “Don’t—don’t worry about it. And thanks…for the food.” I added hastily.

What a day.

Things like this don’t happen to me. I’m not important enough. There’s nothing earth-shattering about my life. I’m typically boring; there are a thousand teenagers just like me.

Why me?

I wish this day had never begun.

“Well, I think I have a project to get back to…” I said slowly, not meeting her eye.

As quick as though a switch had been thrown, she snapped back into hostess mode, sweeping up my plate and shooing me off.

Taylor and I sat together in that godforsaken room for two more hours. That place is now dubbed, in my mind (and, quite possibly, in his) as Hell. Those hours consisted mostly of tired, petty bickering over the minute details of that stupid video.

For the record, I blame Teacher for this whole disaster.

…And Oreo Double Stuffed.

(Stupid video.)

Also, I blame the birth of jackasses.

…And their mothers.