I ran down the steps of my front porch, swinging my book bag strap over my shoulder, jogging to my mom's car waiting in the driveway.
I jumped in the car, put my earbuds in and shuffled the music. "Jimmy," I barely heard my mom say.
"Hm?" I reply, taking out one of my earbuds and pausing the music.
"You look like something's bothering you. Is something happening at school?" She looks at me, concerned.
"No," I reply, quickly wanting to leave this conversation. I put my earbud back in and waited for my mom to pull out of the driveway.
We pull up to he high school and we both exit the car and walk to her classroom.
I sat in the classroom, wearing my favorite pair of ripped of ripped jeans and my mom's band shirt she gave me to sleep in and my scuffed up pair of Converse I've worn for years. As I look down at my phone, my dark hair slips from behind my ears. I hate my hair. I sat in the chair closest to the door and fell half asleep until the bell rang.
My mom was sitting at her desk, typing away. You can't ask her anything if she's doing that. She'll just ignore you, like she does to me almost ever day.
I stood up, and walked out of her classroom.
