The Club Is Open Until 8:00Pm

“The next step to solving this would be…” Ms. O’Brian asked the class. Not me. The class. She teachers math. I hate math. I don’t know who doesn’t. I mean come on, it’s like numbers and stuff. And equations. I know equations except when they involve division. Like k/3+5 = 18. Don’t ever as me to do one cause I won’t ever do it. No.

“You have to subtract from both sides.” The boy in front of me said, proudly. Can’t be anyone in back of you if you sit in the back of the classroom. Then what Monet?” What are you asking me for? It’s not like I know the answer. I didn’t answer and she waited for me to. “I know the answer, Ms. O’Brian.” The same boy paraded. I rolled my eyes. Nerd much.

She sighed, dropping her shoulders. “Well Monet?” She pushed on. I didn’t answer like she wanted me to. “We’re waiting.” Keep waiting, I’m not talking. She sighed, finally calling on another person to answer her question.

I rode the bus home that day and Steve was sitting on the porch steps dressed in one of his new suits. “Hey, what’s the occasion?” I said, eyeing his choice of clothes. Didn’t he wear that to work this morning? “No occasion. I got fired.” He confessed. I raised my eyes in shock. “Fired?” Damn it! That would make it harder to sneak off to the concert.

He nodded. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” I tapped my heel against my toe. “I’m sure Joanne will just pick up more hours at the shop until you get another job.” I said. He nodded, scratching his head in frustration. “Yeah?” I nodded. He smiled. “I don’t think I’ve known you to be in such a talkative mood?” He compiled. I didn’t know how to answer that so I just shrugged and passed him to go to the backyard.

I saw Andy. He was digging holes in Joanne’s garden. I planted myself down on a swing hanging from a tree and asked what he was doing. “Helping Joanne plant seeds.” He answered rubbing his dirty cheek. I smiled. As soon as he was done, he sat down on the wooden swing next to me. 2 swings hanging from 1 old tree. “Is Joanne your mommy?” I don’t know why everyone thinks so. Maybe cause I’ve convinced them that they are, and that my last name is Stevens. My point being, I’m not their daughter. I’m not their daughter…

“Nah. I got here 6 months ago. I admitted kicking the dirt beneath my feet. “THen why does everyone think you are?” He asked, confusion taking over his face. “Cause I tell them I am.” He looked at me funny, like I said something he didn’t get.

“Do you miss them.”

“Who?”

“You’re real parents?”

“Can’t miss who you never knew.”

“You don’t know who your parents are?”

“I don’t need to know who they are. If they didn’t want me, well, then eff them…… I’m perfect.”

“I know who my parents are!”

“Well, good for you.” My nose and eyes starting running. It didn’t help that a sad country song was playing on my Ipod. The Little Girl, by John Michael Montgomery. “You wanna play until supper time?” He asked, trying desperately to change the subject. “I don’t feel like it.” I said, grabbing my bag and walking inside.

I passed Joanne in the kitchen, and walked into the hall and up to my room. I threw my bag into the corner and sat on my bed, wiping my eyes with my sleeve. That’s was get for fucking talking to people. The tears really started to come. God, I’m such a fucking wimp. I rubbed my nose again and tears from my cheek. I hate being like this.

4 days left.