Autumn

4: Caring Less

        Mom doesn't usually care when I'm out, so it didn't bother her that I showed up five hours later a few weeks ago after Emily dropped me off home after the dumbass incident. I sit on Pravite Drive, two hours away from my house. I like to steal Stephen's navy blue Mercedes sometimes and just drive around the city. Once I decided to do that with Grandmother, long before she passed away, when she was teaching me how to drive. So what we ran out of gas and had to walk home to Dad's penthouse. It was freakin' fun; not that our car was towed, but it doesn't matter.

        Pravite Drive is another thing I'd like to call the street for rich and popular kids. See I live on the Catcherband Islands. It's gated and far away from trouble such as gangs and murders, but there are such things as such up prays who stick up their noses when ever "rebels" (for example: me) comes along. They hate the "unnatural" not rich kid type of style. In the end though, does it matter. If they had it sooo much they can pack of their stuff and leave Catcherband for all I care. But Pravite Drive is not the only street for rich kids. A couple of houses down from mine lives this bitch named Monica Clawaters. She is stuck up to no end. One time, Miss White, not only Monica's mother but a divorced but powerful woman of the Island we live on, and my mom decided to have a nice chat at their place. So it wasn't rude, she took me against my will. Monica, only was trying to suck it up to her mom and be nice to me and my mom, so the minute Monica and I were alone, she smacked me in the arm, calling me an "unnatural". My unexplained bruises made Dad complain, which made Mom blame it on Monica, and now she officially hates me. Why? I'm "unnatural"? Come on Monica. I'd much rather be unnatural than bitchy. Besides, I think you should try to extend your vocabulary than think of my unnaturalness. 

        House 185 on Pravite Drive looked as if it were getting renovations every time. One day, a new extention to the patio. Then a larger pool which you could now see on both sides of the house. Now, the small roof in the front of the house looks like a skating ramp. I'm pretty sure after so many changes, I would move to another house. Or rebuild the thing. Or maybe if it's such a crap state, stray animals could inhabit it. It could happen. Like I was saying, I agree with Elle; Miss Tappers ruined that house. Good thing I wasn't visiting her today.

        Pulling the keys out of the Mercedes, I shove them deep into my jean pocket, opening the side door of the driver's seat. I close the door with a slam, though unfortunate that I had to struggle to pull the piece of my black-gray sweater that caught on the door of the car. After my little mishap, I race my way towards the newly painted red door at the house, 187, the one next door to Miss Tappers. Rapping hard enough that my knuckles start to turn red, it didn't take long for someone to answer the door. 

        "Hello there, sweetie," said Mrs. Princeton, smiling. Her golden locks shined in the brightness of the sunlight. "Long time not see. Are you looking for Collin?"

        "Yes, I am." I say politely. "Is he here?"

        She shakes her head disappointingly. "No sorry. Perhaps he went to the library. Would you like to come in?"

        "I-I wouldn't want to barge in," I started but Mrs. Princeton insisted. 

        I followed her into her lovely home, family pictures hung up on the walls and the wooden staircase we passed by moments ago. A large paper tulip in a glass of marbles sat on a glass table, much like the one Mom has sitting on the living room where Stephen cut his foot. I knew that small hippopotamus couldn't have caused all of that damage. The living room carried a grand piano, looking as if it were polished daily, it's sparkling texture making my eyes wince, a red leather coach and a vibrating chair, and the table carried a stack of magazines with pictures cut of them and a pair of razor sharp scissors. I saw Collin's worn out book bag smuggled between the flower themed pillows. Maybe he was doing homework. Moving along, when we reached the kitchen, my jaw literally dropped. Like the grand piano, it looked polished and clean. At home, Mom doesn't clean well and take out orders of Chinese and Mexican food lay in big boxes on the side of the tables and chairs. The sink was always full with uncleaned dishes which reek of mold and orange juice. My step dad didn't even clean either. He worked all the time and never had the chance to do any work at home either. The weekends don't help either. It's his "relaxation days" for two days, before leaving at five in the morning for work. Relaxation for him is watching the "Walking Dead" on Netflix until his eyes pop out. Until the next season comes out, it's "Heroes" and "Supernatural". Ugh. I'd rather watch "Doctor Who" with Diana than sit at home with Dad on the weekends.