Hold on Tight and Don't Look Back
One.
“Well if you wanted honesty that’s all you had to say..” The words blared from my alarm clock speakers almost louder than usual, signifying it was 7:15; time to get up and face another aimless day of my senior year. I decided to hit the snooze button and invest in another five minutes of precious sleep. I lay still in my bed wrapped up in the warm comfort of the three sleeping blankets that are my security. The world outside the four walls of my room is a cruel, strange place where no one seems to understand who I really am. I can faintly hear the alarm sound again, and I push my covers down.
I hop down from my bed and slug over to the closet. I pick out my favorite dark skinny jeans with the zippers on the pockets and grab a random black tee from the closet. I just so happened to grab one of my all time favorite shirts, my homemade My Chemical Romance shirt. MCR has been my favorite band since I discovered them a year ago. Not a lot of people around here are into them and I get some pretty weird looks when I wear the shirt. Oh well, who cares. I make my way to the bathroom and dig out the everyday essentials: black eyeliner, mascara, pink eye shadow, and lip gloss. I apply a heavy line of eyeliner to my eyes and smear on the pink eye shadow. I haven’t quite figured out why I like to wear the pink so much, considering I hate the color. Maybe it’s the way it makes my blue eyes pop. I finish the rest of my makeup, add the lip gloss, and throw my thick, plastic framed glasses on just as my phone buzzes as the final reminder that it’s time to head out for the hell hole they call high school.
I pick up my friend Kristen for school every morning; she hates the bus and lost her mom to cancer last summer. It’s kind of hard not to take pity on her, you know? Fuck. I can’t even imagine losing my mom, she’s one of the few people that somewhat understand me. She opens the passenger door of my car and throws all her crap in the back seat. I can tell she’s about as ready to face today as I am, but at least we’re in the same boat.
The familiar bell sound rings and the heard of wild teenagers begins to make their way towards the lockers. I have a feeling most of them were at some crazy party last night getting drunk or stoned. Shit, half of them look high as it is anyways. Whoever designed the hallways had their head up their ass. How did they ever expect a thousand high school kids to fit through a hall that’s barely bigger than the hall in your house and has lockers protruding from both sides? Dumbass. I hate these halls more than anything. I always feel like someone is staring at me with disapproving eyes. After all, most kids here are about as preppy as you can get, they’re all just trying to impress their peers, or get laid. Whichever you prefer to think.
As I struggle to get all of my junk to fit in my locker I hear the secretary come over the intercom with her squeaky, high pitched voice.
“Will Alexa Murphy please come to the front office.”
Fuck. What did I do now? I haven’t been late to class since the ninth grade, I didn’t skip class, I’m not failing. What’s the problem?
I make my way through the crowds and push through the double glass doors that lead to the main office. I look up and see my mom standing there with a pass to leave school. This cannot be good. Something terrible must have happened. My mom never comes up here to get me.
“Honey, I forgot you have a doctor’s appointment today so I came up to sign you out,” my mom said in an overly suspicious tone.
“A doctor’s appointment? For what?” I asked her. She hasn’t made me go to the doctor since, well gosh, since the seventh grade, what’s up with this?
As we exit the doors of the office my mom looks at me with a smirk on her face. You know, the kind of smirk when a little child knows he has done something wrong and is very proud of it.
“I’ll meet you at home in 10,” said my mom. “I have a surprise for you.”
I hop down from my bed and slug over to the closet. I pick out my favorite dark skinny jeans with the zippers on the pockets and grab a random black tee from the closet. I just so happened to grab one of my all time favorite shirts, my homemade My Chemical Romance shirt. MCR has been my favorite band since I discovered them a year ago. Not a lot of people around here are into them and I get some pretty weird looks when I wear the shirt. Oh well, who cares. I make my way to the bathroom and dig out the everyday essentials: black eyeliner, mascara, pink eye shadow, and lip gloss. I apply a heavy line of eyeliner to my eyes and smear on the pink eye shadow. I haven’t quite figured out why I like to wear the pink so much, considering I hate the color. Maybe it’s the way it makes my blue eyes pop. I finish the rest of my makeup, add the lip gloss, and throw my thick, plastic framed glasses on just as my phone buzzes as the final reminder that it’s time to head out for the hell hole they call high school.
I pick up my friend Kristen for school every morning; she hates the bus and lost her mom to cancer last summer. It’s kind of hard not to take pity on her, you know? Fuck. I can’t even imagine losing my mom, she’s one of the few people that somewhat understand me. She opens the passenger door of my car and throws all her crap in the back seat. I can tell she’s about as ready to face today as I am, but at least we’re in the same boat.
The familiar bell sound rings and the heard of wild teenagers begins to make their way towards the lockers. I have a feeling most of them were at some crazy party last night getting drunk or stoned. Shit, half of them look high as it is anyways. Whoever designed the hallways had their head up their ass. How did they ever expect a thousand high school kids to fit through a hall that’s barely bigger than the hall in your house and has lockers protruding from both sides? Dumbass. I hate these halls more than anything. I always feel like someone is staring at me with disapproving eyes. After all, most kids here are about as preppy as you can get, they’re all just trying to impress their peers, or get laid. Whichever you prefer to think.
As I struggle to get all of my junk to fit in my locker I hear the secretary come over the intercom with her squeaky, high pitched voice.
“Will Alexa Murphy please come to the front office.”
Fuck. What did I do now? I haven’t been late to class since the ninth grade, I didn’t skip class, I’m not failing. What’s the problem?
I make my way through the crowds and push through the double glass doors that lead to the main office. I look up and see my mom standing there with a pass to leave school. This cannot be good. Something terrible must have happened. My mom never comes up here to get me.
“Honey, I forgot you have a doctor’s appointment today so I came up to sign you out,” my mom said in an overly suspicious tone.
“A doctor’s appointment? For what?” I asked her. She hasn’t made me go to the doctor since, well gosh, since the seventh grade, what’s up with this?
As we exit the doors of the office my mom looks at me with a smirk on her face. You know, the kind of smirk when a little child knows he has done something wrong and is very proud of it.
“I’ll meet you at home in 10,” said my mom. “I have a surprise for you.”