Matching Leather Jackets

Stupid.

Copyright © 2012 by Crystal Carter. All rights reserved. Text, graphics, and HTML code are protected by US and International Copyright Laws, and may not be copied, reprinted, published, translated, hosted, reproduced or transmitted by any form of means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise distributed without the prior permission of Crystal Carter.

ENJOY!

~~~~~

I hate people. I really, really do. They don't understand anything.

Yeah, I may be simpleminded to think so, as I'm practically putting myself down, but I couldn't care less, could I?

Here I am, sitting on my lovely motorcycle, in the stupid school parking lot, because it's stupid Monday, and soon I'll have to deal with these stupid teachers, and their stupid, judgmental students. With a gigantic sigh, I will my hands to slip my helmet off of my head. Now, while peering down at it, my reflection is as clear as day. Red hair all tangled up like spaghetti strings, eyes a washed out brownish-blue color. A bazillion or so freckles scattered here and there. I'm not blind to my gene pool.

I rest the helmet on the handle of my motorcycle and jam my arms through the sleeves of my leather jacket, and swing on my heavy backpack, ready to walk up those wonderful stairs to Hell on earth.

Crossing the battlefield, I get inside of the doors of the school and into the main hallway. The loud voices of my fellow students shuts down some, becoming reserved, spineless whispers that resemble the rustle of leaves in the fall. Who cares? It happens everywhere I go, anyway. Taking my time to get to homeroom, my ears listen to the side conversations that I pretend to ignore as I saunter past.

"...And are those converse?"

"...I heard she spit into a first grader's face..." someone hisses.

"...Don't let her touch you!"

And that is why I hate people.

I'll have to admit, though... that last one makes me crack a smile. I hear that one on a daily basis, from one hallway to the next. You would think I would get upset or something, but no, I'm totally fine. After all, the strongest of people don't feed into nonsense.

Most of the time.

As I enter the classroom, I see that it is completely void of human beings, so I take a seat in the back row. While digging into my jacket pocket, my fingers locate my iPod. I quickly slip in the earphones so that Little Talks by Of Monsters and Men is playing in my head. I quietly lift my feet onto the desk and chill, blocking out all of my surroundings so I can think for a while.

Today I'll have to grocery shop. We ran out of fruit and juice yesterday evening, which are Rachael's favorites. Dad won't do it, so I have no choice. I also have to talk to Rachael's teacher because Dad doesn't want to do that, either. Then, before the night's out, I'll have to manage making dinner and getting my homework done, which always consists of loads AP calculus and statistics.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot. I have to get my daily ass-kicking, too.

If only people knew of the life I live, if they could view into the depths of who I am and what I go through. It almost makes me wonder what they would think of me then. Almost being the key word there.

After Mom died, I had to become the woman of the house. Rachael, my six years young sister, was tiny when Mom died, and still is, so I raise her like I would raise my own child. For example, I shield her from our father when he lashes out on us, not wanting her to get hurt.

Instantaneously, someone pokes my shoulder and I jump from my seat. Pulling the earphones from my ears ferociously, I glare at the guy who touched me. He's frighteningly familiar, as I know his face like I know my name.