Status: [updated 12/07/14]
The Brat Pack
Trying Out For A Scholarship
Friday evening, March 30, 1984. The Reynolds Household, Shermer, Illinois.
Allison scratches her head and sets down her pen, staring at the piece of paper covered in doodles. The piece of paper that, mind you, should be filled with up to two hundred words on the person that inspires her the most.
Allison pushes away from her desk and sighs, opening her bedroom door and staring into the dark hall. As she makes her way downstairs, music rushes up to meet her.
She finds her mother cleaning the kitchen, humming along with Johnny Cash. She leans against the door frame, watching.
"Mom?"
Mrs. Reynolds jumps. "Shit, Ally." She presses a sponged hand to her heart. "Don't do that to me." She pulls her hand away, revealing a wet stain soaking through her shirt.
"Sorry," Allison mutters.
Her mother sets the cleaning supplies down and lights a cigarette, flicking ashes into the sink. “Need something?”
Allison shrugs, then takes a deep breath. "Actually, yeah." Her mother raises her eyebrows. "I'm working on an essay. It's for a scholarship." She watches as her mother inhales smoke deeply. "I was wondering... who inspired you the most in high school?"
She watches as her mother winces, coughing up smoke. She forgot. She always forgets – her mother never finished high school.
"Well, uh," she flicks more ash off and takes a shaky breath, bringing the cigarette to her mouth then pulling it away again, stamping it out in the sink and tossing it away in the trashcan.
Allison watches the pain cross her mother's face. She knows high school can be a touchy subject with her mother. Even worse, she knows it's painful that Allison isn't writing about her to begin with.
"I just don't want to do someone general, like a mother or father. Everyone qualifying for this scholarship will, and I want to stand out," Allison lies through her teeth.
Her mother nods and picks up the sponge and spray bottle, wiping the same spot on the kitchen island over and over again.
"Yeah. Yeah, I understand."
"Mom-"
"Why not the president, hm? I'm sure a bunch of art losers won't write about the president inspiring them."
Allison flinches, stepping back away from the kitchen a little.
"Oh. Yeah. I guess."
"Listen, I'm really busy, Allison, okay?" her mother snaps, looking up. "I can't have you interrupting me. Go write your damn essay. Your father's coming home late, he's bringing dinner with him because there's no damn food in this house, okay? Okay?!"
"O-okay," Allison whispers and turns, dashing up the stairs.
Allison scratches her head and sets down her pen, staring at the piece of paper covered in doodles. The piece of paper that, mind you, should be filled with up to two hundred words on the person that inspires her the most.
Allison pushes away from her desk and sighs, opening her bedroom door and staring into the dark hall. As she makes her way downstairs, music rushes up to meet her.
She finds her mother cleaning the kitchen, humming along with Johnny Cash. She leans against the door frame, watching.
"Mom?"
Mrs. Reynolds jumps. "Shit, Ally." She presses a sponged hand to her heart. "Don't do that to me." She pulls her hand away, revealing a wet stain soaking through her shirt.
"Sorry," Allison mutters.
Her mother sets the cleaning supplies down and lights a cigarette, flicking ashes into the sink. “Need something?”
Allison shrugs, then takes a deep breath. "Actually, yeah." Her mother raises her eyebrows. "I'm working on an essay. It's for a scholarship." She watches as her mother inhales smoke deeply. "I was wondering... who inspired you the most in high school?"
She watches as her mother winces, coughing up smoke. She forgot. She always forgets – her mother never finished high school.
"Well, uh," she flicks more ash off and takes a shaky breath, bringing the cigarette to her mouth then pulling it away again, stamping it out in the sink and tossing it away in the trashcan.
Allison watches the pain cross her mother's face. She knows high school can be a touchy subject with her mother. Even worse, she knows it's painful that Allison isn't writing about her to begin with.
"I just don't want to do someone general, like a mother or father. Everyone qualifying for this scholarship will, and I want to stand out," Allison lies through her teeth.
Her mother nods and picks up the sponge and spray bottle, wiping the same spot on the kitchen island over and over again.
"Yeah. Yeah, I understand."
"Mom-"
"Why not the president, hm? I'm sure a bunch of art losers won't write about the president inspiring them."
Allison flinches, stepping back away from the kitchen a little.
"Oh. Yeah. I guess."
"Listen, I'm really busy, Allison, okay?" her mother snaps, looking up. "I can't have you interrupting me. Go write your damn essay. Your father's coming home late, he's bringing dinner with him because there's no damn food in this house, okay? Okay?!"
"O-okay," Allison whispers and turns, dashing up the stairs.
♠ ♠ ♠
I'm sorry this chapter took so long! However, I have great ideas for the next batch of chapters and am hoping to write and put them up soon. Now that schools over and done with, I have more free time to use for writing ^-^ Thanks for everyone's patience!