Carry On

I got into my car, tossing my guitar into the trunk. Amanda hopped into the front seat, buckling herself up. I was quick to peel out of the parking lot before any one of the underclassmen could approach me. They had an annoying habit of stopping me on my way out to ask a series of questions. I can only explain an A Minor chord so many times.

"Where are we going now?" Amanda asked. Her car was in the shop after some idiot had rear-ended her, and I was doing her a favor by driving her home after school. Usually we went somewhere to kill time, seeing as I never really wanted to go home. Amanda's parents were always late anyways, since they worked in Los Angeles. They were big business people for some big company that I didn't really care about.

I shrugged, "I told my dad practice ends at eight," I replied and she snickered, knowing full well that I lied to Dad all the time.

"You going to Sherri's party Saturday?" She asked and I groaned, causing Amanda to raise an eyebrow.

"I have that stupid barbecue," I muttered.

"Can't you skip it? You've done it before," She stated and I sighed.

"It's at my house this month," I said before there was a pause between us. I realized that I really didn't care anyways. I could sneak out of the barbecue as the night went on. Sherri's parties were never fun until towards the end of the night anyways, "Fuck it. I'm going to get there somehow. I'll wait until they're all drunk and I'll sneak out."

"You're going to give your dad a heart attack one day," She smirked.

"Yeah, I wouldn't be surprised."

She was silent for a while. I drove across Costa Mesa to get back to the Huntington area. I debated going to the beach for a while, but I figured Amanda wouldn't like it as much as I would. Her house was right on the beach, and she went for a run every morning and every evening on the shore. Dad didn't like being so close to the water, but our house was much larger and luxurious than Amanda's. Dad did always like flaunting his money. It was something he was very proud of, seeing as he never had anything to be proud of me for.

"Um," She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and I could tell she was going to ask something I probably wouldn't like, "Have you talked to your mom?" She asked and I almost slammed my foot on the brake ready to kick her out of the car, but I bit back the urge to.

"No," I answered, "She hasn't called me."

"Why don't you call her?" She asked and I shook my head.

"I forget to. I'm too busy," I responded, and she knew not to question me anymore.

The truth was that mom left when I was eleven. Michelle Haner changed her name back to DiBendetto and had run off to New York. My childhood memories consisted of Mom and Dad yelling at each other nearly ever day. The main issue was Dad's job. She hated that he was never home. And when he was home, he was always in our studio. I think she was sick of taking care of me by herself. Dad hardly had any input unless I was in trouble. The final straw was when Mom asked Dad to take time off so she could start working on launching her own fashion line. She wanted to design shoes and asseccories. Dad flipped the handle and absolutely refused. Mom's retaliation was skipping town while Dad was out at the studio. He had no idea until he came home and saw she was gone and I was alone.

Mom was particularly jealous of my Aunt Val, her sister. Matt would do anything to let Val be happy. He put recording time on hold, despite the band's protests, so they could have their wedding and honeymoon properly. He also was completely supportive of Val's decision to pursue acting. Mom just loved fashion. Sure, Dad let her design some things for the band and his own clothing line, but it wasn't the same. She wanted to do her own thing. They argued the majority of my life because of it. Dad wanted her home, since he couldn't be. She was driven to her breaking point.

Things changed a lot when Mom left. Dad realized that he hardly knew how to raise a child. For a while Aunt Val wouldn't come around because she was so pissed at him for denying my mother's dreams. Her anger was then pointed at my mother when Val realized that she had left her daughter behind. Uncle Matt came around more often once Aunt Val cooled down, mostly to help out. Matt hardly helped, though. He was just like my dad, and I felt sorry for what ever child they eventually birth. Uncle Matt should have been a general in the army, because that's what he acts like. He also thinks for some reason, because he's my uncle, he can act like my father. Uncle Zack was also around a lot. Uncle Zack isn't really my uncle, though. He's Dad's best friend and my godfather. If anything happens to Dad (I suppose I would be the reason for him to dive into an early grave), he's my next of kin. Zacky's a lot more calm than Matt, and not such an asshole either. Much of my younger memories include Zack getting me out of the house when my parents were too busy arguing to remember I existed. I spent a lot of time with Zack and Gena when I was younger. In fact, next to Jimmy, Zack is probably my favorite of the family.

My phone vibrating in my pocket pulled me out of my thoughts. I figured it was either Dad or Alicia, my other best friend. I figured it was Dad, though. I didn't answer and continued to drive down PCH, not really caring why he was calling. Suddenly Amanda's cell phone was ringing, blasting the new Bruno Mars song through my car. I was too slow in notifying her to not answer the phone, and she answered, "Hello?"

I heard quick and fast murmuring on the other end of the line, but couldn't understand the muffled words.

"Hi, Mr. Haner," She smiled nervously at me. That could only mean that he was upset about something. "Yeah sure, hang on," She handed the phone to me, mouthing a sorry. I looked around for any cops before putting the phone to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Liza, where the fuck are you?" He demanded, not quite at the point of yelling but he was getting there.

"I'm getting ready to leave," I lied. It was nearly 7:45 and I told Dad practice was out at eight, "Practice ends at eight."

"That doesn't mean it's fucking true. I told you to be home after practice. I called your director asking if you could leave early and he said practice ended at six o'clock!" Okay, now he was starting to yell a bit more.

"Well why were you asking to take me out of practice, anyways? We have a concert next week, you know."

"God dammit, Liza! That's not the fucking point!" He was fuming now, and I even had to pull the phone away from my ear a bit, "Where the fuck have you been for the past two hours?"

"I'm in Huntington, if that helps any," I responded and I could feel him radiating through the phone.

"Take Amanda home and come straight here, do you understand me? This is fucking bullshit, Liza, and I'm getting tried of it. Get your ass home."

I sighed, "Okay, Dad. Bye," And I hung up before he had a chance to say something else.

I handed Amanda her phone back, obviously upset that she had answered in the first place. I mean, it was common sense. If my Dad thinks we're at practice, then don't answer the phone. We said nothing else as I pulled onto her street, "I'll see you tomorrow. You need a ride?"

"Yeah. Can you pick me up for school too? Mom's heading to work early," She said and I nodded before she murmured a thank you and a quick goodbye before heading into her house.

When I got home I parked in the driveway, Dad's black Camaro parked beside my white Audi. I got out of the car, taking my sweet time to get my guitar out of the back, along with my bag and books. When I got into the house there was no music like there usually was. It was quiet, and I could hear Dad's heavy footsteps on the floor above me. It wasn't long before he was stomping down the stairs as I set my guitar down in the living room.

"Where the fuck were you," He demanded. I turned to him, taking in his presence. He was obviously pissed. His eyebrows raised, eyes dark. His arms were tense, which meant he probably wanted to punch something (or strangle me).

"We just drove around. Jesus, it's not that big a deal," I muttered, tossing my bag to the ground. The books made a heavy 'thud' as it hit the hardwood floor.

"Not that big a deal?" He asked and took a step forward, "And if you got into an accident? If something happens and I can't get a hold of you because I don't know where the fuck you are!" He raised his voice. Most kids would cringe seeing their parents this angry, but I was used to it. Numb.

"Relax before you pull a muscle," I retorted, crossing my arms over my chest. A couple of times before Dad's yelled so loud he's actually pulled a back muscle, "Why were you looking for me anyways? You never ask to take me out of practice."

"Why?" He licked his lips, obviously flustered about something, "I'll tell you why, Liza. Because your fucking teacher called me, that's why."

God dammit, Mrs. Johnson. She couldn't keep her mouth shut just one time?

"You don't want to go to college?!" He was livid down, "Why the fuck would you tell your teacher that!?"

"I don't know, maybe because… Here's a shocker. I don't want to go to college," I replied and I swore his eyes were going to pop out of their sockets.

"What the fuck do you plan to do with your life, Liza!? Why the fuck am I paying ten grand a year to send you to the best school in Orange County?"

"First off, I was content being sent to Huntington High. That's your fault. And second, I plan to join the circus and travel through Europe with a monkey named Frodo," I explained. He was ready to blow his lid any moment.

Before he could retaliate, the front door swung open and I could hear another pair of heavy footsteps. If it were Zacky, he wouldn't be walking that fast. He's too calm. Zack never charged into a situation like this. I automatically knew it was Matt, and he was probably just as pissed as my father, "Where is she?" He called.

"In here!" Dad yelled back and Matt appeared in a plain black shirt and basketball shorts. I swear he does nothing with his life except play Call of Duty. So here both of them stood in front of me, like a barricade. I felt like I was suffocating already from them.

"What's this I hear about you refusing to go to college?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh for fuck's sake! Is he honestly apart of this!?" I yelled and Dad was quick to point a finger at me.

"Watch your fucking language."

"Oh, isn't that ironic?" I rolled my eyes and I could see Dad's hand twitch. Dad, although he probably has wanted to, has never hit me in his life. Not even a quick spank when I was younger. I could see I was pushing him close to the murdering point, though. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if I woke up in the middle of the night to him strangling me.

"Your Dad works his ass off to pay for a good school so you can go to college, Liza. He's trying to give you a good life. You're sitting here in fucking designer shoes taking it for granted!" Matt intervened, "Kids would give anything to have what you have."

That doesn't change a God-damned thing, though. I didn't ask to be a snobby rich kid and I certainly didn't ask to go to college. My situation is completely irrelevant to this other kid's life.

"First of all, these aren't designer," I pointed to my shoes causing Matt to glare even more so at me, "And second, I never said I wouldn't go to college, I just said I didn't want to. Is that a crime?" I asked.

"It's a crime when you don't take your education seriously. You're smarter than all those kids at that school and you're throwing it away. I raised you to be smart so you can go and have a good career. Take responsibility for once," Dad stated and I huffed.

"Dad, I'm not saying I won't go to college. Just…," I paused, "Let me take a year off. I'll get a job, I don't care. Just let me relax for a year. I'll find a good school. I'm just so stressed out."

"You're stressed out!? That's your fucking excuse!?" Dad yelled, "What the fuck are you stressed about, Liza? You go to school, go to practice, and come home. What's so fucking stressful!?"

You don't understand.
"I have a lot of work, Dad! You don't understand because you didn't do shit in high school!" I yelled back, "Just because you spent all your time getting high and drinking with him," I pointed to Matt, "Doesn't mean it's like that for every kid!"

"Hey!" Matt stepped in, "You're in the same boat as everyone else. You're not a fucking special case. If they don't get a year off, then you don't need one. Stop being a fucking drama queen," He scoffed.

"Seriously, why the fuck are you even here!? Are you my father!?" I screamed at him. I had reached my breaking point with Matt and I was not about to deal with his shit.

"You will not disrespect Matt like that, Liza. We're trying to do everything we can to make you successful," Dad stated.

"Fine. You know what, fine!" I put my hands up, "You want me to go to college? You pick a fucking college, pick my major, and I'll fucking go. Jesus Christ!" I yelled before pushing between them, heading up the stairs to my room.

"Don't want away from your dad, Liza!" Matt called.

"Go home, Matt!" I yelled back before slamming my door and locking it. That was the one thing Dad regretted about giving me the master. It was the only room in the house, besides the bathrooms, that had a lock.

I just needed an escape.