"Reagan Hales," my mother yelled as she pounded her fist against the bedroom door frame. "You better get your rear end up out of this bed right now, or so help me you don't even want to know what I'll do!"
I put a hand to my throbbing forehead in sudden recollection of last night's run in with Mrs. Marie, and I realized this issue was a nightmare that I'd never open my eyes from. The studio had always been my second home; there had never been a time when I felt like giving it all up, but that moment was now.
I pulled on my discounted jeans that were too big at the waist, and slid my favorite Performance 5*6*7*8 sweat shirt over my shoulders. I took one short look in the mirror and realized I could not wear this shirt to school today. The possible thought of looking at the name of our studio was nauseating. After changing shirts, brushing my teeth, and putting on the minimal amount of makeup, I had just enough time to run out the door with a Pop-tart in hand.
Every day I'm stuck riding to school with my father, and I am reminded of my complete stupidity in the fact that I didn't get my license. I do however have my reasons. One of those would be that every time I get in a parking lot to drive, I have a nervous breakdown. I've been sixteen for seven months, and my learners permit is set to expire two days after my next birthday.
My dad turns up the music on some obnoxious pop song, and proceeds to roll down the window just enough for a few kids in the student parking lot to look our way laughing. I turn down the radio, and roll up the window in a horrified manner.
"Really Dad?" I asked annoyed.
"What? Are you embarrassed by your old man or something?" he asked sarcastically. That's the one thing I hated about his dumb jokes, I couldn't help but smile even when I wanted to be angry with him.
"Have a good day kids." he said as he dropped us at the front doors of the high school. I slammed the door and marched through the doorway to show that I was irritated.
When the morning bell rang to release us from the cafeteria, I got up immediately to walk to first period. My Spanish class was in the Eagle's Wing, our school's glorified trailer facility. It had indoor plumbing, heating and air, and the cleanest restrooms Claymont High had ever seen. My teacher, for lack of a better term, was a handful. We had a quiz scheduled on weather vocabulary, and she always thinks that we are all going to cheat. Today she had us put all of our stuff at the front of the room, and she yelled at me because I had forgotten my calculator on my desk. How in the world would one go about getting the answers to a Spanish quiz from a graphing calculator?
By the time the class was over, it had begun to pour. With no jacket and my knock off Keds I made my way to the school building. The wind was blowing so hard that my blue and white umbrella flipped up in a bowl shape and drenched me from head to toe. The two girls behind me were laughing so hard that I wanted to scream. People just kept walking as I struggled in misery. When I finally got the umbrella to close and I had stepped inside the doors, I had rain dripping from my eyebrows, puddles in my shoes, and my clothes were soaked through.
Although my mother was nice enough to bring me a bag of new clothes, shoes, and another umbrella up to the school, she had retrieved my dance sweatshirt. Out of all the things she could have possibly picked to bring, she brought something that reminded me of what I didn't want to think about. I had been begging her all day to allow me to get a substitute for my assistant teaching classes at dance. I had no interest in seeing or working with Mrs. Marie, but in return for my mom providing me dry clothes, I was forced to attend dance that night.
"If you don't show up, you'll be letting her win Reagan," my mom had continued to say. "You have to walk in with a smile on your face and be the better person. " I was annoyed, but the thing I couldn't stand was that I knew she was right.
