Different colored minds

Im not alone anymore

STEVEN POV

"How was school today?" My dad asks.
"Fine. I feel like stuff is finally figuring itself out," I smile as I look up at him. I'm lying. School is going horribly. I've never been so lost in my classes and now that I don't have weed it's been a lot harder to do homework. To some extent I think it's a good thing it's gone because I know in the back of my head I can do this without meds but not on top of everything else. If school was the only thing that was expected of me, maybe I would be okay.
"Thank you Gweneth for picking him up from school this week, if you'd like next week we can alternate and I can do it." It just keeps getting worse. My father won't stop talking about all the things I need to be doing better. The ways I'm not meeting the quota. At least with my mom she puts on the radio and asks how I'm doing. Not that I'm honest with her, I don't really know how to be honest with anyone about how I'm really doing.
Every time those horrible words come out of my dad's mouth I want to kill myself. And every time I go to school, everyone there tells me I have no friends and I should kill myself. I don't understand why everyone keeps trying to keep me moving forward, when it seems, for everyone else's good, it would be better for me to be dead.
"Have your classes been getting easier?" I don't know what to say, they took me off of weed, so the short answer is, no. But she's looking at me with such pleading eyes I don't have the heart to tell her. My mother has tried to be nothing but kind to me.
I can feel my heart pounding in my eardrums. How do you tell your parents you'd rather be dead? And even if I wanted to have a conversation with them, what would I want to talk about with them that they wouldn't immediately write off because they disagree with it. I'm alone.
I stab my last piece of broccoli.
"Can I be excused? I want to get ahead on homework," the truth is I am still trying. If not for me, I'm trying for them. I really do want to pass even if I'm going to fail anyways. I have to keep telling myself I can do it. Or I won't make it till the end of the school year. And then, they'll never be proud of me again.
"Alright, but we'll check in on you in an hour and a half to see that you're doing that," my father says still munching on his food.

In my bedroom I lay on my bed and stare at the wall. I could work on math or English. Those are the classes I have the most homework in.
I hear a familiar sound on the window. I look up to see Jeremy's now familiar face inches from the glass, his lips curl up in a smile.
I walk over to open it so he can slide through.
"Hey Steven, how's it going?" He smiles and comes to sit on my bed.
"Just working on homework."
"A good student, I see," he laughs.
"Speaking of good student, do you need some weed? I've been thinking about it a lot. I'd hate to have to be here stuck without friends or a joint to keep me company."
I laugh.
"No thanks. I figure, if they want me to be sober, I might as well for the time being."
"Good man." He smiles.
"I figured out how to get us onto a shooting range, if you'd like we can go next week, my friend Miranda can get us some guns."
"Sounds good," my smile broadens. Now that does sound like fun.
"There's a pack of trees not too far from here we could nail,"
"Why not," I lay down next to him as we both look up at the ceiling.
"Are people still giving you shit at school?"
"Yeah, but I mean they always have."
"Me too. They act like they can just say anything and there won't be a consequence like they're God or some bullshit. It's not like they're any better than us."
"I know."
"If anything, they're worse because they take the time to be so cruel."
"Yeah,"
"One time I had a kid push me into the wall, banged my head pretty bad, have gotten head aches ever since. But honestly, the funny thing about that is, I don't really care about what they do to my body. Here's the real kicker. I don't really care what happens to that. But the interesting part is a kid called me annoying in 4th grade and I can remember everything about the place I was standing in when he said it."
"I think words don't matter."
"Maybe to the stupid, but I think even those stupid people feel it as hard as we do."
"So why do they do it?" I say, locating a small crack in the white paint up above.
"I don't know,"
"Maybe they don't realize they're doing it."
"I don't think so, I mean if a word comes out of your mouth you had a thought before that, so that's no excuse. I mean with that logic anyone could do anything without a thought in the world and it shouldn't matter. It's like they're pointing a gun and firing, without caring who it'll hurt."
"You're right," I say sitting up.
"Do you know anything about precalculus?" He looks at me with a laugh.
"Yeah dude, I can help you out." He smiles, "What are you having trouble with?"
"I don't get trig."
"Oof, that's a hard one. But lucky for us I do. Want me to help?"
"Sure..." and we work right up until five minutes before I know my mom is coming.
"My parents are going to check on me in a few minutes, you should go," he nods and gets to his feet.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he smiles.
"See you tomorrow."