To be fair, the school council was as competitive as it gets. With a president and vice president fighting for different sides, it seems determination is in the air. In contrast, maybe there's more to the story than being rivals who "hate" each oth...
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11 | "Let's vote!"
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Laying in bed on a Friday wasn't on my itinerary, but here I am. I just woke up, remembering that I refused to go to school. My hair's spread out like a porcupine all over the place as I swipe wisps of hair out of my face. No matter how beautiful I look at school, this is the truth. I am a mess. It's great that organization comes in handy, but as my eyes drag to the corner of the room where my many finished prep books lie, part of me thinks I don't even have that.
What's wrong with me? Why am I thinking like this?
My feelings have never been this overwhelming. I've always been so confident, I've never felt like I lacked the things I used to think were my strengths. It's not his fault, maybe my own. My hands crumple the tan sheets. My pillow is no longer cold, but as I push harder and allow my head to sink closer into the pillow, I let my imagination think it's the perfect temperature.
It's already nine, isn't it? I would've been in my second class by now. Government. The phone buzzes rhythmically. At first, it's a few texts, but after, it becomes a ricochet of phone calls. I check but see only Yuri's and Sunoo's calls. To keep it short, I pretend I fell back asleep.
"Is that why you left? You left because you're humiliated?"
Maybe it's that sentence that haunts me. An unavoidable point in time I wished I could shove back for the rest of my life. I act fortunate enough to be able to go to school, but I know that it's my father's hard work and my own.
"You don't have to, dad," It's silent in the noise-forbidden house–my father sits across from me, protected by the coffee table separating us. I hold his hands, rubbing my thumb across every paper cut that he achieved through his job. Each one makes him wince, only a little, or maybe it's my imagination that makes me think he's hurt. "I can provide for us. We don't have to move out and go live with grandmother."
"She wants what's best for both of us, but mostly for you," He's concerned. I hate seeing that look on his face–when his eyes crinkle into judgment, and his frown deepens with every syllable left from his lips. Momentarily, his eyebrows raise, not believing the conversation we're having. Like mother didn't disappear, and we didn't have to sell our house just to get from one end of the country to the other. "She doesn't like that we're living paycheck to paycheck. Down there, you don't have to work three jobs. Just one, and I can work one too!"
