So Long and Goodnight
o1 of o5
"But Ma-"
She hates it when I call her that.
"No discussions. You need a tutor to keep up with your studies, and using a student volunteer will save money."
The unsaid words hang thick in the air. It's not like we couldn't afford a motherfucking legion of tutors. No, she just doesn't want to waste money on me.
I'm a disgrace to her.
I run melodramatically up to my bedroom, slamming the door and kicking it a few times for emphasis. Then, I flop on my bed and in my mind's eye watch any chance at being ignored instead of tormented during my high school years wash down the proverbial drain.
The only student volunteers who tutor other kids aren't volunteers at all-they're seniors who need the extra credit. I'm only a freshman and even I know that. Chances are I'll end up with some scary-ass kid who'll beat me up behind the gym or something equally pertaining to an after-school special.
At least I can take a punch.
It's not even really about tutoring. It's about my mother. Ever since Dad left her for cheating on him, she's needed someone new to control, to dictate. In her dreams, I am a perfect little robot child who always does what she wants.
In reality, I wear girl pants and eyeliner. My hair is cut so it's always covering my eyes. There is frequently gay porn in my browser history(and you can bet she checks).
It's safe to say that my own mother hates me with a deep-seated passion.
And yet..that information doesn't concern me as much as it probably should.
When I think of my feelings for her, there's nothing there but numbness.
I glance out my window-it's getting dark out. I've been thinking for a while. I make sure my homework is neat and I've checked all the answers. Making nice for my first day of hell-I mean, tutoring tomorrow.
Even though it's barely gone nine by the time I'm finished, I strip off and climb in bed. For the rest of the night I glare at my ceiling, hoping for enlightenment from its shadowy depths. None comes however, and all too soon it' s morning.
Grabbing the nearest articles of clothing from their crumpled places on my floor, I climb into them, barely noticing what they are(fluorescent pink hoodie, skinny jeans, and black fingerless gloves. Believe it or not, I don't stand out much). I pull on one pink and one black converse, drag a comb through my hair, and brush my teeth. I don't eat breakfast or say goodbye to my mother-just walk out of the house and start my way to school, iPod blaring.
People say walking helps them think-to me, it's the exact opposite. I let music pound through my empty brain for the fifteen-minute walk to school, and then grudgingly come back to reality.
On the front steps, I exchange guarded hellos with a kid named Mikey who seems nice enough. Besides that, school is just a relentless flow of education with no real human interactions.
Finally, the bell for the end rings, and I actually feel happy for a moment, before I realize where I have to be now.
I wander the empty halls until I find a room marked "Tutoring."
Hmm..could that be where I need to go?
It's empty except for a lone, hunched figure. Suddenly shy, I walk through the door and slowly sit across from the person, regarding him. Doubtless, he's my tutor. He has long but undeniably masculine black hair and distinctive features. You remember his face, once you see it.
As I sit down, he gives a little jump and hastily crumples a piece of paper he had been scribbling on.
"Sorry," I mumble, not being able to think of anything to say.
He doesn't reply, just scrutinizes me across the table.
I shiver.
She hates it when I call her that.
"No discussions. You need a tutor to keep up with your studies, and using a student volunteer will save money."
The unsaid words hang thick in the air. It's not like we couldn't afford a motherfucking legion of tutors. No, she just doesn't want to waste money on me.
I'm a disgrace to her.
I run melodramatically up to my bedroom, slamming the door and kicking it a few times for emphasis. Then, I flop on my bed and in my mind's eye watch any chance at being ignored instead of tormented during my high school years wash down the proverbial drain.
The only student volunteers who tutor other kids aren't volunteers at all-they're seniors who need the extra credit. I'm only a freshman and even I know that. Chances are I'll end up with some scary-ass kid who'll beat me up behind the gym or something equally pertaining to an after-school special.
At least I can take a punch.
It's not even really about tutoring. It's about my mother. Ever since Dad left her for cheating on him, she's needed someone new to control, to dictate. In her dreams, I am a perfect little robot child who always does what she wants.
In reality, I wear girl pants and eyeliner. My hair is cut so it's always covering my eyes. There is frequently gay porn in my browser history(and you can bet she checks).
It's safe to say that my own mother hates me with a deep-seated passion.
And yet..that information doesn't concern me as much as it probably should.
When I think of my feelings for her, there's nothing there but numbness.
I glance out my window-it's getting dark out. I've been thinking for a while. I make sure my homework is neat and I've checked all the answers. Making nice for my first day of hell-I mean, tutoring tomorrow.
Even though it's barely gone nine by the time I'm finished, I strip off and climb in bed. For the rest of the night I glare at my ceiling, hoping for enlightenment from its shadowy depths. None comes however, and all too soon it' s morning.
Grabbing the nearest articles of clothing from their crumpled places on my floor, I climb into them, barely noticing what they are(fluorescent pink hoodie, skinny jeans, and black fingerless gloves. Believe it or not, I don't stand out much). I pull on one pink and one black converse, drag a comb through my hair, and brush my teeth. I don't eat breakfast or say goodbye to my mother-just walk out of the house and start my way to school, iPod blaring.
People say walking helps them think-to me, it's the exact opposite. I let music pound through my empty brain for the fifteen-minute walk to school, and then grudgingly come back to reality.
On the front steps, I exchange guarded hellos with a kid named Mikey who seems nice enough. Besides that, school is just a relentless flow of education with no real human interactions.
Finally, the bell for the end rings, and I actually feel happy for a moment, before I realize where I have to be now.
I wander the empty halls until I find a room marked "Tutoring."
Hmm..could that be where I need to go?
It's empty except for a lone, hunched figure. Suddenly shy, I walk through the door and slowly sit across from the person, regarding him. Doubtless, he's my tutor. He has long but undeniably masculine black hair and distinctive features. You remember his face, once you see it.
As I sit down, he gives a little jump and hastily crumples a piece of paper he had been scribbling on.
"Sorry," I mumble, not being able to think of anything to say.
He doesn't reply, just scrutinizes me across the table.
I shiver.