Pushing My Limits

"What are you doing out of class, Miss Sanders?" The security guard, Victor, had asked- yet one would think it was a demand. He took off his sunglasses, eyes glaring as he rested his hand just above the pellet-gun within his belt loop.

"I'm late, Victor. Haven't we been through this before?" I answered without a hint of doubt in my voice. I wandered to my locker, twisting the dial and opening it. There were few books inside. Most were at home under my bed, and the remainder in my locker had gathered a thin layer of dust upon them.

"It's forty minutes into class, Kathrine," He said, as if he had needed to inform me of this little fact.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," I glanced up at the clock above the bathroom doors, exactly where I had just been for forty minutes, before glancing back at him.

"You're ditching again aren't you?" He almost seemed appalled, but he shouldn't be, seeing as we just went through this last week.

"Me, Sir?" I put a hand to my chest and scoffed, "Never."

"I've had it with you, Sanders!" He roughly placed a hand around my upper arm, and just as the bell rang for the next class, he dragged me off. Girls and boys from exiting classes had glanced at me, most leaned to the person next to them, whispering sweet rumors about me. I hadn't cared last week when this happened to me. They had seen it before, and they would see it again. They should all just go back to their Prep-School business and leave me alone.

^^^^^

Matt Sanders put his head in his hands after placing his phone on the table, next to the stack of lyrics he had yet to learn, "What's wrong, man?" His good friend, Brian, asked. The guitarist placed a hand on his shoulder as the aging man lifted his head.

"I'll be back in about an hour," Matt replied, standing up and grabbing the phone off the table, spilling the near-by cup of coffee in the process. He sighed heavily before moving to grab a roll of napkins.

"Don't worry about it," Brian was already on it, moving the papers out of the way and turning back to his friend, "Where are you going?" He was worried as to why his lead singer was so detached from their conversation.

"I need to pick up Kathrine from school," Matt replied, and Brian said no more. The helpful friend had known what troubles Matt had been going through with his teenage daughter. He nodded silently and Matt turned around, not looking at the rest of his band-mates, as he walked out the door.

^^^^^

I sat in the passenger seat, just inching to turn the radio on. The silence was killing me, and I had hoped that Dad would get it all over with and say something. Give me the I'm trying my hardest, so you need to try hard too speech so I can be dropped off at home to wash my worries away.

"I'm really disappointed, Kat," He stated, taking one hand off the wheel and placing it on the center console, as if I were going to reach out and hold it, "First the grades and now this? I don't know what to do anymore," He seemed truly defeated and for a second I almost felt sorry.

"You should home school me," I answered confidently and he shook his head, placing his free hand back on the steering wheel.

"I'm not home every day, Kat. You know I won't leave you alone with a stranger at the house," We had been over this subject too many times, and of all of my attempts this year to get myself out of Mounce Prep, he refused to budge.

"Aunt Michelle can stay with me," I added, "Or I can take classes online. I wouldn't even need a teacher," I was pressing the subject harshly today. This morning had put me in an irritated mood and my hangover could very well kill me.

"No, Kathrine. You need a proper education," He shook his head and I knew he was thinking about my last progress report. It was such a serious matter, apparently, that my father was called from the studio and brought to the school guidance counselor so she could personally hand it to him. I personally think that Ms. Martins had brought Dad in just because she had the hots for him. Believe me, I've seen the various tattooed boys' pictures located on her flash drive.

I had managed to securely rip off my dress shoes and toss them to the back seat, crossing my legs Indian-style on the leather seats. This wasn't the first time Dad had to pick me up from school, in fact, just last month I managed to get out of school seven days total.

"What period did you ditch?" Dad asked after minutes of silence and I glanced at him, "Kathrine," He urged and I rolled my eyes.

"Fourth. And please, I prefer the term 'missed'. Ditch is such a negative statement," I replied, turning my head out the window so I wouldn't see his face when he makes the connection.

"Fourth?" He pondered his discovery for a second, "Isn't today Thursday?" No doubt did he know what I was up to, but I had grown to not care, "Dammit, Kathrine! You missed another counseling meeting?" I could tell he was close to snapping, but he would certainly not take it out on me.

"I don't need them anyways," Was my only defense and he ran a hand through his hair, proving that he was in fact as stressed as he had looked. Really, the bags under his eyes hadn't disappeared after the first day of school when he realized that I had dropped choir and musical theater.

"They're trying to help you, Kathrine. What part of that don't you understand?" He just could not wrap the though around his mind as I made a list of reasons why I did not understand.

"They've helped enough, Dad. You shouldn't push the issue," I snapped at him, motions close to the snapping-turtle that belong to my sixth period biology class.

"You're wrong, Kat. You do need help. You're in this dark hole, sucking you in, that I can't bring you out of," There was a long and thick pause that agonized me, "Not alone," He added and I shook my head.

"You swear as if I have problems," I muttered under my breath. He had heard it, I'm sure, because I could see his forearm muscles tense out of the corner of my eye. Besides his involuntary muscle spasm, he didn't dare say or do anything else to acknowledge my comment as we pulled into a parking lot- he refused to show weakness in front of his daughter.

This was not just any parking lot, though. This was the exact opposite of how I wanted to spend the rest of my day. Locked up in a place where cigarettes burned my lungs and I was under constant watch. There would be no way for me to sneak a couple shots of vodka.

I should have been a coke addict instead. It certainly would have been easier to sneak around. I couldn't hide a bottle of Jose Cuervo between the pleats of my red and blue plaid skirt. However, a baggie of pure cocaine could easily fit in the small pocket sewn to the inside of my blazer.

Much to my dismay, I followed my father into the recording studio, still shoeless and dragging my bag beside me. I could care less of the worn down marks it left on the bottom. Dad could just buy me another one.

"Kitty-Kat Shadz," Johnny had sung from the couch located beside the Mac that occupied the long desk topped with scattered sheets of lyrics and guitar picks, "What was it this time?" He asked and I bit down on my lip to refrain form saying something, but when has something ever stopped me from speaking my mind?

"Shut-up, Dick. You'll be lucky if I don't deck you in the face like I did to that girl two summers ago," I snapped. Dad had ignored my comment, and the memory of me beating the shit out of a fellow Avenged Sevenfold fan. She was rude and annoying and asked if I had a Twitter. So I told her to get a life and punched her in the face. That certainly didn't hold up well in court, but the girl's love for the band had overcome all when she had dropped charges in exchange for tickets to the New York show, round-trip airfare, and hotel accommodations.

"Aw, c'mon, Kat. At least tell me it was something entertaining," He urged but I remained silent. Sure, how I spent my forty minutes alone in the girls bathroom was entertaining to me, but surely this was a family matter and bringing up alcohol at a family function is purely against etiquette. Despite the fact that they do it on the most formal occasions.

I sat down on the other couch, which was vacant. I tossed my bag aside and put my stocking-clad legs on the coffee table in front of me. Making myself comfortable, I grabbed the decorative pillow from beside me and wedged it between the back of the couch and my neck.

I cringed as the bones in my neck cracked when I sat up. You would think in venues as large as this one, they would at least provide decent upholstery for their performers.

Sitting up, I glance around. The small television is on, and I can see Uncle Brian and Zacky playing through the solo for 'Bat Country'. The show's just started, apparently. Dad is singing again, and I'm alone in this room. I sigh and head to the small mini-fridge and open it. It's nearly destroyed, so the guys must have gotten into it. All that remains is the sushi Dad ordered me for dinner, which I have yet to eat, and a single can of Mountain Dew.

I grab both before heading back to the couch and kicking my feet up. I rip the provided chopsticks out of the white paper packaging and pick up my first spicy tuna roll, drenching it in wasabi and soy sauce before popping it into my mouth. I take a sip of my soda, although it doesn't cool down the burning in my mouth. So instead, I eat the nine remaining rolls.

With dinner finished and my stomach full, I reach over and grab my backpack from the other side of the table and zip it open. School starts in two weeks, so I should get started on Mr. Walker's summer assignment. A ten-page thesis on Wilson's Fourteen Points and how the effects of it caused World War II.

As I make a thought-bubble to organize my ideas into paragraphs and pages, I hear the door open. When I look up I am met with light eyes, a scruffy face, and light brown hair, "Sorry, didn't realize anyone was still in here," He apologized and I shook my head.

"Don't worry about it. Do you need something?" I asked and he nodded.

"I'm here to fix Syn's guitar. The one that broke last night," He informed me and I pointed to the snapped guitar leaning against the bathroom door. He walks over, picks it up and turns it around in his hands. He sets it down before leaving again, and within moments he's back with a toolbox, "Do you mind if I work on this in here? Everyone's in the other rooms and I want to concentrate," He asked politely and I gave him permission.

He sat on the other couch adjacent to my own. As I scribbled my thoughts about the League of Nations and militarism; the anonymous boy speaks, "I'm Chris by the way. You're Matt's daughter, right?" He asked and I nodded, "Must be cool having a rock star dad," He smiled, trying to make light conversation as he worked on the snapped neck of the black guitar.

"Eh," I shrugged, "I don't know what any other Dad would be like so I guess I have nothing to compare it to," I replied and he laughed.

"I'll inform you of what any other Dad would do. He would keep you in every weekend, give you hand-me-down toys and clothes, and monitor your actions at every second," Chris explained to me and I smiled.

"Sounds like me dad," I paused, "Except for the hand-me-downs," I laughed and he cracked a smile, revealing teeth that hadn't been touched with braces, but certainly were not crooked.

"At least your honest," He replied and I nodded, looking back down at my paper.