Kind Of Real, Not So Fake
Part Three: My Android Parental Units Or The Fruit Bearers
I got home that afternoon, my head buzzing as if I had been snorting lines. I dumped my bag on the lounge and stalked toward the kitchen. I was like a lion stalking a zebra in the African plains, except I was a teenage girl stalking the fridge in her mediocre suburban home. I pounced, opening the fridge and rummaging through the contents. Left over Chinese, plastic containers of spaghetti, fizzy drink that was not so fizzy and a carton of milk that smelt like it should’ve turned to cheese quite a while ago inhabited the cool interior. I slammed the door closed with an over dramatic sweep and then yelled to my mother.
“MUM! Isn’t there any decent food around here!”
“I don’t know! What do you think I am, your mother or something!” she yelled back.
“Haha! Very funny!” I called sarcastically.
I grabbed my bag in an annoyed fashion and went to my room, slamming my door behind me. In fact I wasn’t really all that upset just...over dramatising. My mum was a nice lady if a bit hard to bear at times. I unzipped my bag and pulled out my laptop, spilling assignment sheets as I did so. Opening my laptop I thought about today at lunch. Jason was taking this whole fake relationship thing rather seriously. I mean hugging and holding hands and stuff; cool. Kissing me in front of our whole group; CREEPY! Ok maybe not creepy, but definitely taking it a bit too far. But are you really that concerned Krystal? I mean you seemed happy enough to go along with it this afternoon I asked myself. I thought about that. Was I really all that mad about it? I mean he was a GREAT kisser...like UBER good. The way his mouth moved so in sync with mine and how his ton-
“Sweetie? Can I come in?”
I coughed coming out of my reverie.
“Uh sure dad!” I called.
He opened my door and peered in.
“Hey princess...why are your cheeks so red?”
“Uh, it was hot coming home from school today.” I lied uttering a nervous laugh.
“Who’s the boy?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows at me.
“What! No one dad!” I exclaimed.
“Haha! I’m sure.”
“What did you want?” I asked sighing.
“Oh right,” he said, remembering there was a reason he came here. “This was in the mail for you.”
He held out a small white envelope. I took it from him and looked at it. It had my name scrawled in small elegant script across the front. I hurriedly tore it open, eager to know who it was from. My dad stood in front of me trying to peek over and read it. I turned so that he couldn’t see and read the letter.
Dear Miss Harper,
The School for Talented Young Artists has accepted you to join our group of elite students and contribute with your artistic skills. We would very much like to see you on Thursday the 5th of December for an interview. The interview will be with the headmistress, yours truly. Please contact the school and let us know if you will be attending the interview. Our number is:
46486723
Kind Regards
Mrs Christine Anderson
(headmistress)
“Oh my GOD!” I screamed jumping up and flinging my arms around my dad, squeezing him until he wheezed for breath.
“What?” he asked.
“I got in!”
“The art school?”
“YES!”
“You’re not going there.”
“WHAT?!”
“There are better choices out there for a smart girl like you.” He answered as if he was doing nothing more than informing me of the weather rather than crushing my young dreams.
“But art is my life, my passion! Why would you want to take that away from me?”
“Look darling, you’re young and you think you know exactly what you want, but trust me, in a few years you’ll have completely forgotten about this art phase and will have moved onto something else. You’re a teenager, that’s what you do.”
I stared at him as if he had just pulled out a gun and said “here shoot me in the foot! Just for fun!” “I think I need some alone time...” I whispered, looking at the floor of my bedroom.
“Sure.” He said, giving my shoulder a pat. He walked out of the room and shut the door behind him. As soon as that door clicked shut my face collapsed and I burst into tears, causing my mascara to run down my face in little black rivers.
So there you have it! Obstacle number two:
Dad: Mr I Don’t Give A Sideways Shit About Your Life!
“MUM! Isn’t there any decent food around here!”
“I don’t know! What do you think I am, your mother or something!” she yelled back.
“Haha! Very funny!” I called sarcastically.
I grabbed my bag in an annoyed fashion and went to my room, slamming my door behind me. In fact I wasn’t really all that upset just...over dramatising. My mum was a nice lady if a bit hard to bear at times. I unzipped my bag and pulled out my laptop, spilling assignment sheets as I did so. Opening my laptop I thought about today at lunch. Jason was taking this whole fake relationship thing rather seriously. I mean hugging and holding hands and stuff; cool. Kissing me in front of our whole group; CREEPY! Ok maybe not creepy, but definitely taking it a bit too far. But are you really that concerned Krystal? I mean you seemed happy enough to go along with it this afternoon I asked myself. I thought about that. Was I really all that mad about it? I mean he was a GREAT kisser...like UBER good. The way his mouth moved so in sync with mine and how his ton-
“Sweetie? Can I come in?”
I coughed coming out of my reverie.
“Uh sure dad!” I called.
He opened my door and peered in.
“Hey princess...why are your cheeks so red?”
“Uh, it was hot coming home from school today.” I lied uttering a nervous laugh.
“Who’s the boy?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows at me.
“What! No one dad!” I exclaimed.
“Haha! I’m sure.”
“What did you want?” I asked sighing.
“Oh right,” he said, remembering there was a reason he came here. “This was in the mail for you.”
He held out a small white envelope. I took it from him and looked at it. It had my name scrawled in small elegant script across the front. I hurriedly tore it open, eager to know who it was from. My dad stood in front of me trying to peek over and read it. I turned so that he couldn’t see and read the letter.
Dear Miss Harper,
The School for Talented Young Artists has accepted you to join our group of elite students and contribute with your artistic skills. We would very much like to see you on Thursday the 5th of December for an interview. The interview will be with the headmistress, yours truly. Please contact the school and let us know if you will be attending the interview. Our number is:
46486723
Kind Regards
Mrs Christine Anderson
(headmistress)
“Oh my GOD!” I screamed jumping up and flinging my arms around my dad, squeezing him until he wheezed for breath.
“What?” he asked.
“I got in!”
“The art school?”
“YES!”
“You’re not going there.”
“WHAT?!”
“There are better choices out there for a smart girl like you.” He answered as if he was doing nothing more than informing me of the weather rather than crushing my young dreams.
“But art is my life, my passion! Why would you want to take that away from me?”
“Look darling, you’re young and you think you know exactly what you want, but trust me, in a few years you’ll have completely forgotten about this art phase and will have moved onto something else. You’re a teenager, that’s what you do.”
I stared at him as if he had just pulled out a gun and said “here shoot me in the foot! Just for fun!” “I think I need some alone time...” I whispered, looking at the floor of my bedroom.
“Sure.” He said, giving my shoulder a pat. He walked out of the room and shut the door behind him. As soon as that door clicked shut my face collapsed and I burst into tears, causing my mascara to run down my face in little black rivers.
So there you have it! Obstacle number two:
Dad: Mr I Don’t Give A Sideways Shit About Your Life!
♠ ♠ ♠
part three :)hope you likeeey :D