Obsessed with being the perfect cookie-cutter teen, Brandy seems to be like every other plain cheerleader, looking for some extra credit work she decided to sign up for peer tutoring; when she's paired up with Eddie Munson, easily the most hated tee...
ATTA awoke Brandy that morning with a hot cup of coffee and blueberry pancakes in hand, hoping the temperamental teen would wake without issue. She hated fighting with Brandy, but the girl seemed to have a knack for arguing recently. So Atta stared at her sleeping face, thinking of how peaceful she looked in slumber, and she prayed nothing quarrelsome would come of her request waiting to be asked. Though this was her daughter, and nothing was that easy.
"Brandy," She hummed, gently shaking the girl's shoulder. Her daughter let out a groan into her pillow, pulling the blanket further over herself. "Brandy come on now, don't make me get a spray bottle." Atta switched on the old lamp that sat on the bedside table.
"Whatttt?" The teen whined. "What time is it?" She complained, still cocooned underneath her mound of blankets and pillows.
"Seven, you need to get ready for church." She told her.
"I'm not going," Brandy rolled back over, further bundling herself within the sheets.
"Yes," Atta firmly told her. "You are."
"Since when?" The teen glared, pulling down the blankets that obscured her face.
"Since I'm your mother and I said so," Atte stood her ground.
Brandy looked at her a little shocked, Atta was always good at explaining her reasonings, or giving a fair amount of leeway when it came to punishments. It was one of the reasons Brandy considered her such a fair parent, but she never used the 'because I said so' excuse. It came as a surprise.
"Fine," Brandy mumbled, sitting up on the twin-sized mattress.
The sun was slowly shining its way into the room, shadows casting against her wall from the objects cluttered on her windowsill. Brandy sighed as her mother placed down the plate and mug in her hands on her bedside table, "Peace offering," Atta raised her brows.
"I'm not hungry," Brandy shook her head.
"You will be by the time we get to church," The older woman told her. "Eat, before you get hangry." Atta advised as she left the room.
Brandy picked up the porcelain plate, puncturing the sticky pancakes with the fork, "Pleasant." She muttered, watching the cold cakes flop unceremoniously back onto the plate.
The girl took a few bites of the pancakes, ultimately dissatisfied with the meal as a whole. She could never eat first thing in the morning, everything just seemed unappealing and unappetizing. So instead she quickly drank the hot coffee, gulping down the bitter liquid in hopes for it to help soak up the little amount of flapjacks she ate.
Brandy stood with a sigh, moving over to her closet. She never really had any church-appropriate clothes, at least recently. There was her easter dress from about two years ago, but it was far too floral for fall. Let alone the beginning of October.
The girl trudged her way into her mother's room. The woman herself was bent over her dresser, looking into the mirror as she clipped on a pair of earrings. "You aren't dressed," She stated with a sigh.
"Great observation." Brandy grumbled, opening up her mother's closet. "I don't have any church clothes that don't look like it's grandma's yearly get-together."
"I should have some that'll fit you in the back," Atta told her.
"God, what decade are these from?" Brandy asked. She pulled out a peach dress, about calf length. An A-line pattern with triangler shapes around the bodice.
"That's from around seventy-three." Atta reminisced fondly. "Go, put it on," She shooed, smiling softly as she turned back to the mirror.
Atta scowled at her face, pulling at the slowly forming crow's feet and smile lines. "Don't ever start smoking!" She warned with a holler. "Even if you quit it'll wreak havoc on your skin!"
"Are you obsessing over your wrinkles again?" Brandy called from the hallway. Atta didn't respond as Brandy walked back into the master bedroom, her hair twisted back into a low bun.
"You look lovely," Atta smiled at the dress that seemed to fit Brandy just as it had fit her back when she had first bought the dress. "You know I got that dress when you were five,"
"I feel like I look dumb," Brandy muttered, looking down awkwardly at the article of clothing.
"Nonsense," Atta said dismissively. "Nobody's going to pay your clothes any mind, and I doubt Nancy would care, if that's what you're worried about?"
Brandy shook her head slowly, rubbing at her tired eyes with the heel of her palm. She felt like a kid again. Waking up far too early, being insecure about what she wore, borderline annoyed by it, complaining to her mother about how she felt, it was all over nostalgic. But not a type of nostalgia that Brandy thought of fondly.
"Are you guys friends, or just school friends?" Atta asked, trying to coax some insight from the teen.
"I guess friends," The blonde shrugged. "We really only talk at school though,"
"Well," The mother sighed, moving over to the side of her bed she sat, putting on a pair of shiny black flats. "You're both very busy young women," Atta acknowledged. "Wouldn't be too surprised if you were a good friend later in life, you know after college and all that."
"Gosh, mom," Brandy grimaced. "Young women?" She asked. "You make us sound like a couple of soon-to-be spinsters."
"You're so dramatic," Atta rolled her eyes.
"Am I?" Brandy asked in a high-pitched voice.
"And ornery!" Atta laughed, "God, you're your father's child."
Brandy smiled lightly, looking to the floor. "Was he that ornery?"
"Very." Her mother said with wide eyes. "One of the most stubborn men I knew. God forbid you made him do something he didn't want to, grouchy, beyond belief." She ranted. "But he was also kind and ardent about the people he cared about," She told Brandy. "Both glad and unglad about the traits you got from him," Atta tapped her on the nose.
Atta never really spoke of Brandy's father, outside of small things like mentioning him in passing over dinner, or telling Brandy how much she looked like him. It was nice to hear her mother say such things about him, describing how he was outside of being her father.
"Do you think he'd be proud?" Brandy asked.
"Beyond words."
Short chapter for you all, I've been very busy so I apologize for the late and shitty updates as of late, I started school and my professors won't email me back already so that's fun.
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