Diana Hargrove has gone through enough tragedy for three lifetimes, yet she still has an affirming smile on her face. She's lived and travelled all over the world, but the last straw that broke the camel's back, brought her back to her hometown, Cre...
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𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳 | 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴
Mom drove me to school on Monday morning, because we needed to talk to the principal.
My first day of senior year: I'm a month late into the year, I'll be late for my first class, and I'm being driven to school by my mother.
To say I'm embarrassed would be an understatement.
Mom isn't impressed with my first day of senior year outfit. Light blue skinny jeans, a black Beatles crewneck, and black converse sneakers. She told me I wasn't dressed to impress, which I'm not trying to do. I'm not trying to be impressive. I'm trying to graduate.
Mom was dressed to impress. She always is. She refused to let the world know that she was still mourning the loss of her husband. Wearing a burgundy pencil skirt, with a white halter top blouse, mom was ready to grab Crescent Heights by the balls and do what she doesn't best — thrive.
"If this man doesn't hurry up, I'm going to tear his arm off," Mom growled.
"Did you drink coffee this morning?" I questioned.
"Half a cup," she whispered. Her nervous fidgeting in her seat had me thinking that this wasn't only about the principal taking too long. I'm not sure what it could be about. "You know you don't have to come here if you don't want to. We could figure out homeschooling."
"I want to be in school. It's my last year," I said.
"I understand," Mom whispered. Her tone shifted from motherly to absolute annoyance. "What I don't understand is how this imbecile has the audacity to keep us waiting here!"
On cue with my mother's outburst, the high school principal walked into his office. The slouch in his back showed that he was exhausted. His coffee was shaking in his hands. The man needed to balance the mug to keep the contents from spilling on the papers on his desk.
"Thank you so much for waiting. I'm sorry for my tardiness," he said, attempting to fix himself and his messy desk. This poor man isn't a Monday person. No one usually is. "Allow me to say that it's a pleasure having the Hargrove's back in Crescent Heights, and I'm terribly sorry for your loss."
Mom didn't acknowledge his condolences. "I want Diana to have the support of this faculty throughout her senior year. She's never been to a normal school for more than a few months, other than that she was also homeschooled by private tutors," mom explained.
"I understand the sensitivity of this unique situation. Diana's test scores are close to phenomenal, so she doesn't need to repeat any classes. She is on track to graduate with her class," he said, handing me my new class schedule. All standard high school classes. "One of your peers, Emilia Russo, offered to help Diana get acclimated into the school. I understand that you two grew up together, so I have no doubt you'll do great today."
