Three months have passed already. My life just seems to get worse by the day. I didn't get accepted by the university I applied to. My mom is a wreck; sometimes she won't even eat. I have to work at a crappy job. Now I barely hang out with my friends.
I'm getting in trouble at school more often. I've been suspended for a week for skipping so much (great solution guys).
My dad is still giving us trouble. He won't give us the money we need in time. So I just take it out on his stuff. I've slashed his tires, broken his windows, even sold some of the stuff he left when he abandoned us. But he still remains stubborn. I'm not sure if he knows it's me doing all these things. I know I probably shouldn’t do this, but I don’t care anymore. I won't stop anytime soon!
I rest my back against the wall of the arts building and inhale some smoke from the cigarette. I inhale too much and I start coughing as my throat becomes irritated. I throw the cigarette to the ground and step on it as I regret my decision.
“I should’ve just bought some gum... cough... this isn’t for me.”
The bell finally rings and a few minutes later Melody comes up to me.
“You took your damn time,” I say.
“Well,” she says, “somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”
“Don’t even mention it,” I say.
“Cheer up, Michael. Your suspension ends tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I’m not too excited about that. I think I might stop coming to school altogether.”
“Eh? Why?”
“I was already refused by the university. Even if I get my high school diploma, I’ll still have to retake some courses next year.”
“Michael, don’t rush. You can still get the credits you need!”
“I can’t focus on school anymore. I need to work overtime at the car wash and at the Chinese buffet.”
“You shouldn’t need to do all that, Michael.”
“If only we could get the alimony sorted out already! But the damn lawyer we hired isn’t doing his damn job!”
“Come on, Michael,” Melody says as she caresses my arm, “everything’s going to be alright.”
“Yeah? Well, it’s taking too damn long.”
“Michael, what’s wrong? What’s bothering you?”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“Come on. That means there is something.”
Ugh... Enough already.
“I said I’m fine. Get off my back, okay?”
“What’s up with you?” she says.
Great. Here we go again.
“What’s up with me? What’s up with you? Why do you keep asking annoying questions?” I instinctively raise my voice.
YOU ARE READING
Identity Crisis
Teen FictionYoung, 17-year-old, Michael Davidson struggles with the many typical problems and situations that come from being a teenager. Being the "black sheep" of the family and at the end of his high-school life, his life is pretty complicated. But his life...
