"How have you been suspended three times?" He asked, an amused look on his face.
I snorted, "How have you not?"
***
Brooklyn, is to put it quite frankly a troubled teen, with her impulsive rebellious decisions and not a care in the world for her aca...
Disclaimer: Listen, I know it's been a while and this story has been all over the place haha, however I was no longer happy with the original version of 'Juice Box' and decided to make some changes. With that being said I hope you enjoy this version and thank you all for your support :)
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I HATE EVERYTHING. Call me dramatic, but I hate the sound of the blaring alarm that wakes me up this morning. I hate the long line of traffic I got stuck in, on my drive here, and I can't stand the sight of the prison they call 'school'.
The door shuts gently behind me and seconds later Principle Summers is taking the seat opposite mine.
I stare at the small poster on the wall to my left, because I can't figure out whether or not it's always been up there. It's Okay Not To Be Okay it reads in big blue letters with a bunch of different helplines listed at the bottom. I wonder how many people have actually called those.
"You're just the person I wanted to see," she clasps her hands together on the desk, "I hope the week suspension was enough time for you to reflect on your actions?" I can almost feel her crystal blue eyes burning into the side of my face as she awaits a response.
I don't even need to look at her to know that she's worried. I can already picture her wrinkled features laced with concern, "Yeah, it was."
"I'm glad," she hesitates, "But you're late on your first day back."
It's evident how uncomfortable it makes her to call me out. Miss Summers awkwardly presses her thin lips together, emphasising the frown lines on the middle aged blonde woman. She has an awfully kind demeanour that doesn't exactly hide the pity I know she feels when she looks at me.
"I got stuck in traffic."
Her frown only deepens, as expected. She thinks I'm not putting in enough effort. I think she needs to give me a freaking break.
"Well, how about we discuss some things when looking at moving forward?" she lightly suggests.
I shrug which prompts her to continue.
"Alright, firstly let's talk about your behaviour. Is there anything that you think could be improved?" She asks me with a hopeful expression.
"I don't know.. Maybe like, not lashing out at teachers," I suggest, internally cringing at the memory of my mental breakdown, that caused me to yell a series of offensive, colourful insults at my history teacher.
"Yes, that is a great place to start," She pauses and inhales before continuing, "I also just wanted to add that a lot of our behaviour is rooted from... environmental factors, and so I feel obliged to ask if everything's okay at home?"
"What?" I ask, shocked that she would dare to even ask me that.
"I mean no disrespect when I ask this," She clarifies in a panicked matter, but I feel nothing but offended.
