Pushing My Limits

"I want you to head straight to the guidance office and apologize for missing another meeting," Dad instructed as he slid a plate of breakfast over to me. When he turned around I gagged at the food. Dad was not the best cook, that was for sure. Watery eggs and burnt toast just didn't compare to the Pop-Tarts he usually buys me. Judging by the bare pantry and the overstuffed garbage can, Dad needed to go shopping, "Do I make myself clear?" He asked and I simply nodded.

I scooped the undercooked and over-salted eggs into my mouth and took a bite of toast to soak up the excess yolk in my mouth. The best part of this meal was my milk, which I was positive that it had expired last week. Dad seemed to think nothing was wrong with his cooking, because he helped himself to seconds before placing his dirty dish and pan in the sink with soap.

"Ready?" He asked and I handed him my plate before grabbing my bag and heading out the door. I climbed into the Range Rover and buckled myself in. Dad followed, turning the engine on and I helped myself to the radio options. I settled on KROQ, listening to Rise Against's new single. The freeway was clear, as far as the carpool lane went, and soon we were off on our exit and approaching my school.

Gregory H. Mounce Prep School was one of the best private schools in Orange County. Located in Laguna Hills, it was open to both boys and girls looking for an extraordinary education and a line-up of scholarships. Not that anyone here needed financial aid. The school cost six grand per semester, adding up to 12,000 dollars per year. Ultimately costing 48,000 dollars for the four years of your high school career. I questioned why my father spit out so much money for a high school. But if you got it, flaunt it.

"I love you," He said as I opened the door.
"Love you too," I replied and I slammed it shut, waltzing my way across the freshly cut grass and into the hallways.

I had debated skipping the whole guidance office ordeal, but I was positive that Dad would call and make sure I had in fact apologized to Ms. Martins. Walking past my first period algebra two, I headed for the school office and helped myself to walking behind the counter and into Ms. Martins' office, "Good morning, Kathrine. You've missed again. Victor told me he caught you outside of class," Was the first thing she said to me as I helped myself to sit down in the leather chair placed perfectly in front of her desk.

"My dad says I have to apologize," I told her and she shook her head. She must have known that I wasn't supposed to say that, "So I'm sorry, Ms. Martins," I added and she sighed.

"Kathrine, what am I going to do with you?" She asked and I shrugged.

"I think you should let me off easy and end these unnecessary meetings," I suggested this idea many times before, but the same answer ever time.

"You need my help, Kathrine. You need it more than you think," She told me, eyes soft and nurturing. She was a woman in her mid-forties, divorced, with a wall of awards and certificates. She had a wonderful motherly instinct, and I guess that was the reason why I wasn't as rude to her as I was to some of the other hags on this campus, "Let's start with the first thing that comes to mind... Why do you dislike your meetings with me?" She asked, slipping her reading glasses on, magnifying the crow's feet that embellished her own.

"I've said it before, Ms. Martins. I don't need therapy," I crossed my arms, and my legs, before tearing my gaze from her and staring out the window.

"Why do you feel you don't need help?" She scribbled a few notes on her pad of paper.

"Because help is for people who have problems. I don't have problems," I informed her of this information two weeks ago, apparently it hasn't gone through her head yet.

"Well, how can you explain your decline in academics?" I bit my lips together, "Or you dropping choir and theater? Those were your two favorite things in the world," She paused, "Besides your father."

I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.

"How is you and your father's relationship, Kathrine?" She asked.

"It's fine. We're perfectly happy," I snapped my head to meet her eyes, bored with the scenery occupying the window.

"I'm glad to hear that. Did he punish you for yesterday?" Ms. Martins asked and I nodded.

Of course Dad didn't punish me, he never did. He always thinks all of this is his fault. He feels guilty enough for supposedly "letting this happen to his beautiful baby-girl." He thought forcing me to tour with him had caused this, which if it was, I would have given up a long time ago. I liked touring with Dad, but he didn't see that.

I couldn't tell Ms. Martins that Dad didn't ground me, because he feels guilty enough. I don't need the school counselor calling him and making him feel hurt even more. He's my father, and it's my job to protect him, because his ignorance to my past should not put him to blame.

"Grounded?" She asked and I nodded again, "How long?"

"A month," I shrugged, "No television, computer, phone, or shopping," I told her and she nodded. I glanced at the clock and realized that first period was close to ending, "The bell will ring soon," I grabbed my bag and went to leave.

"Before you go, Kathrine, I want to try something," I sat back down, clutching my bag to my side and stared at her, "Close your eyes and think back... Is there anything that might have happened over the summer to support this change?" She inquired. Ms. Martins seemed desperate to get through to me, so I unwillingly shut my eyes at the sight of her sorrowful eyes. Slowing down my breathing and leaning back in the cold leather chair.

"Hey, Chris, what are you doing?" Another boy had entered the room. He seemed older than than Chris, but not by much. Chris seemed about twenty-one, while this new character seemed twenty-five.

"Fixing Syn's guitar," Chris replied, not looking up from his almost complete work.

"Syn? That fucking douche bag. He makes you do everything for him, huh?" This boy, whatever his name was, was much more energetic and obnoxious than Chris. This other boy just seemed downright rude.

"Shut up man," Chris said in a hushed voice, hoping I wouldn't hear and he nodded his head towards me, "That's Matt's daughter."

"Shadz's kid?" He asked, eyes wide and gleaming, "I never thought his offspring would be so beautiful," He stalked over, sitting down on the couch next to me and taking my books out of my hand and setting them on the table. He leaned back, relaxed, and slung an arm around me, "I'm Elliot- the most amazing guy you'll ever meet," He grinned and I cringed. His hair was darker, dyed black, and he wore tight black pants and a black sweatshirt with a white t-shirt underneath. His eyes were the same exact color as Chris', making me assume that they were possibly brothers.

"Kathrine," I replied and turned back to grab my books, but he stopped me.

"Aw, don't tell me I bore you, Kathrine," He grinned cockily.

"Leave her alone, Man," Chris had finished the guitar and glanced at me, "Don't mind him. He's harmless, just doesn't have his head screwed on right," He explained and I laughed.

"You're a cruel brother, Chris," Elliot snapped, glaring at the younger boy.

"Whatever, dude. I'm done, so will you leave the poor girl alone so we can go set up the guitars for the second half?" Chris asked, and Elliot stood up.

"I'll have to catch you later, Beautiful, but count on the fact that we'll see each other soon," He smiled before blowing me a kiss and strutting past his brother and out the door. Chris rolled his eyes before waving a goodbye to me and shutting the door as he left.

I will not cry.

"Nothing," I muttered and Ms. Martins sighed.

"You can go to class now, Kathrine," She said softly and I raced out of the room, walking hastily to reach my next class before the bell rang. I didn't want to deal with crowds at the moment.

I sat down in the desk that I had grown to know as my own. I set my bag by my feet and glanced up at the board, "Well, look who decided to actually come to school," A voice that could only belong to one person asked perkily.

Millie Valentine was in the sophomore class with me. We attended middle school together at the private school down the street from this one. She was in choir and theater with me, and at one point in the sixth grade we used to be somewhat civil with each other. I didn't bother her and she didn't bother me.

One day shortly after the seventh grade started, I gave the audition of a lifetime for the play 'Grease'. I obviously wanted to be lead, and of course Millie did too. After Millie's audition, she walked out of the room as if she were the queen of Broadway and told everyone that she was sure to be casted as Sandy. He dreams had crashed down hard when she read the list of names posted on the door and saw my name typed beside Sandy.

Every play and choir performance after that, I always had a better part than her, even if I wasn't lead. If I were a supporting role, she was a background dancer. If I was a harmonizing soloist, she had a speaking part between song transitions. Through the rest of seventh grade, up to this point, Millie has always hated me and been runner-up.

"I got the 'Seasons of Love' solo in our version of Rent," She was sure to emphasize the play name, as if I had never heard of it before.

"Really?" I asked, turning to look at her and she nodded, smiling smugly, "What a shame," Her triumphant smile faded, "You're not black," I shrugged and turned back to face the board and she scoffed.

"How dare you say that to me!" She was obviously taken back by my comment.

"Am I wrong?" I asked and she remained silent, pursing her lips together and turning back in her seat so she couldn't see me.

"You're such a bitch, Kathrine," She almost looked like she wanted to cry.

"I heard Taylor Mills is playing Maureen."

And with that her face turned red and a scowl was placed permanently on her face for the remainder of the class.

After an agonizing long period of English, the bell was about to ring and I slumped in my chair. Millie was staring intently at the board, making sure she wrote down absolutely everything perfectly, erasing a word when it wasn't pretty enough. As I stared at Millie's obsession of perfect penmanship, I was pulled out of my thoughts when the door opened and a boy walked through.

He had light brown hair and eyes, a clean shaven face, and a smooth complexion. He was dressed in the required khaki pants, white polo' and navy blazer. The only thing wrong with his outfit was the fact that his dress shoes were missing and he wore Converse instead. His hair swept across his forehead, and he had to twitch to the left a few times to get it out of his eyes. He seemed about six feet tall, maybe six two. He was certainly a looker, "Can I help you?" Mr. Aarons asked the boy.

"I'm new," He simply said in a raspy voice that had reminded me of John Mayer.

"Well, the bell is going to ring soon anyways. You can head to you next class so you have a head start before the crowd. You'll sit next to Kathrine tomorrow. It'll be the only seat open," Our teacher pointed to the desk next to mine and I gave a little smile. He stayed emotionless, nodding his head in greetings before thanking the teacher and heading out the door.

Millie was staring angrily at me, obviously bothered by the fact that the new boy was going to sit next to me and not her.