brown eyed beauty - benicio bryant

Part 3

After storming into the building and crying to my mom, the words she said before replayed in my head. "You're in a new school now, this is a big part of your life. You're finally starting high school. There will probably be plenty of new kids, and you can branch out. You'll be just fine." I hope she wasn't betting on that. Every year history seems to repeat itself. I'm the laughing stalk because I'm easy picking, I'm not gonna fight back because I can't. I look like  a coward, a fool. And to be fair, in some ways I am. I can fight back just fine when I rehearse my retaliation and arguments in the shower. I guess the circumstances may be a little different there.
School has never been easy for me. I grew up awkward and was told it was just a phase, and here I am 15 years old and still awkward. I grew up with no father present, and in a way I feel like that kind of helped shape who I am today. I inherited my moms eternal love for music, there isn't a day where you won't find some kind of music blasting, be it latin or pop, and everything in between. She often told me stories of her upbringing and how important music was to her and her family. I loved hearing stories about my grandparents. I never got the chance to meet them. They were from Italy, and shortly after my birth they both passed away with only months between. I'm told by each and every family member how they see her soul in me, I'm not quite sure how they expect me to respond to that other than an uncomfortable lopsided smile. We have a picture of them framed neatly on our wall, sometimes after a tough day I talk to them. I guess in a way I can see how I look like them, we have very similar eye structure, at the very least. You'll never catch me wearing anything but ripped skinny jeans and hoodies, occasionally a band tee if it's that unbearably hot.

3 3/4 Months Later

Day after day I come home having a worse day than before. Each day Avery and I drone on about our hatred for existence and timezones collectively. I am now meticulously known as 'Charcoal' which isn't exactly the most endearing of terms considering its origin. If I didn't know any better I'd think they didn't know my actual name. Who am I kidding, how would they? It hasn't gotten any easier for me, however my excitement for my pending trip has increasingly developed day by day. We spend hours talking about our huge plans and all the things we want to do together. A few of these items include the Woodland Park Zoo, going to see a show at the Moore theatre, and visiting the Space Needle. She also mentioned getting our nails done or something but that seems ridiculous to me considering I bite away all remnants of what could have ever been polished. Our calls start feeling like they're dragging on and I worry that by the time I get there we'll have nothing left to talk about. I hope she doesn't get bored of me that quickly.
"Only 8 days to go Charlotte. How you feeling?"
"Nervous t-"
"Yeah yeah nervous what's new when aren't you, I mean about the trip as a whole. Not just flying."
"Geez, thanks for the empathy. I see your maternal instincts are prominent. For all I know you and your whole family are some creepy axe wielding serial killers. On that note, I'm thrilled to be coming to see you all."
"That's my little optimist! Glad to see you're handling it well."
"Who knows maybe I'll just show up and never leave."
"Oh what a treat that would be." She exaggerated every word, making sure to emphasize each.
"I'm starting to feel unwelcome"
"Well there's your welcoming gift."
"I don't think that's how it wo-"
"I'm hanging up now, goodbye"
"wha-" The line cut as I She tried to finish her word. "So disrespectful" Charlotte announced getting up off her couch, going to her closet and looking over her clothes for the thousandth time deciding what to pack. She tossed each hanger onto her bed, dissatisfied and unsure of her choices.