We Are Home

chapter 8

School shopping was a matter which Jessica Kirsty regarded with the utmost of respect. She told me that she was going to buy me things. I told her that I didn't want her to buy me things. She told me I needed school stuff. I told her I didn't want school stuff. She told me to stop being contrary. I told her that I wasn't being contrary. And so on and so forth.

Eventually, after much kicking and screaming, and after Jenna had given me an evil glare that meant "I hate you and wish you drowned on that beach, you stupid person," my mother finally succeeded in stuffing me into her car. I scowled out of the window as she started the engine and pulled out of the driveway.

I liked my wardrobe, and I didn't want to turn into a Jenna (a wild and mean creature that you can find hunting around the most barbaric of places--high school). There was absolutely no way that I was going to even try on, let alone purchase, any skirts, dresses, heels, ballet flats, or makeup. I had been giving the makeup mirror and new collection of cosmetics in my room the evil eye ever since I had entered my new bedroom.

When my mother pulled the car into the parking lot of a barren mall, barren because most young people were in school at the moment, and a mall because the people who owned it were unintelligent enough to want to enter the business of selling useless items to gullible people (call me bitter, it's one of my better traits), I was silently fuming. I was so, so tempted to ditch Jessica Kirsty and walk around the rest of town on my own, preferably in the vicinity of a restaurant, but my mother was headset on spending money today. I huffed as she climbed out of the car, giving me a stern look when I did not follow suit. With another scowl, I got out of the car, slamming the door behind me. Jessica rolled her eyes and started walking towards the indoor mall's entrance. Her heels clicked against the asphalt.

"Don't you have work or something?" I asked her.

"I took a day off," was her curt reply.

"Don't you want to save your money for your retirement soon? You're getting old, right?" I asked rudely. She didn't answer.

"I have an idea," I said. "How about you go off to the designer shoe section of this mall, and I can shop for the things that I really need, alone?" I just might really need a donut from the donut shop a block away.

"Nice try, missy. I know that you don't want to be here, but I kind of want to make up for the past few years," my mother said, glancing at me. You've got to be kidding me. Instead of having to make up for the years that she hadn't been there, she could have just, you know, been there. And since when was I a "missy?"

Three hours later and some painfully condescending comments later, I had convinced my mother to shop for herself instead of me. She had tried to get me to buy things like pink skirts, pink shirts, pink socks, pink shoes, and pink--well, you get the idea. I had adamantly refused. My shopping bags thankfully only held a few t-shirts, three pairs of jeans, two pairs of leggings, and some sneakers. Jessica wanted to buy me makeup, but I had reminded her that I had some in my room already, even if I didn't mention that I didn't intend on using any of it. 

"Can I shop on my own now?" I asked my mother impatiently. She was currently looking at a red dress that was better suited to my Aunt May than it was to my mother. It was tight, short, and made me uncomfortable just looking at it. I tried to get rid of the image in my head of my mother in the dress, and shuddered.

"Sure," she handed me a wad of cash, which I intended to safely stuff in my windbreaker pocket for other items more useful than clothing. For instance, anything else had more value than brand-new clothing. I was happy with my current wardrobe.

"Thanks," I muttered, but my mother had already gone back to sifting through a rack of cocktail dresses. Well then.

I turned around and went to go find somewhere to buy pizza.

Thankfully, the food court had a tiny pizza place filled with cheesy, delicious, perfect food. Sue me for my obsession, I was hungry and my stomach takes over my brain sometimes. I ordered a few slices of Hawaiian-style pizza at the cash register. It was only when the pimply teenage boy, who was wearing a stuffed pizza hat, manning the register told me the total price, making me look down at the money in my hands, that I realized I was holding hundreds--not tens, not twenties, and not the single dollar bills that I normally used to pay for things. I had to flip through them to find a twenty. Pimples, as I'd generously named the guy wearing the pizza hat, was eyeing the cash. I stuffed it into my pocket before some criminal around here could decide to rob me, and handed the guy the twenty.

I decided to eat my pizza at the edge of the food court, where less people were hanging around. A big, fake plant in a plastic pot stood to my two-person-table's side. There weren't tons of people around here, but there was a decent number of college-age kids, and some high schoolers who had most likely ditched. A few people my mother's age roamed around, probably trying to relive their glory years, just as I suspected my mother was.

I stopped paying attention to the people around me as I bit into my pizza. Instead, I glanced at my phone. The device had mysteriously reappeared on my bedside table this morning. I was still convinced that Jenna had taken it because she wanted me to die alone on the beach. Thank god for passwords, because nothing on my phone had been touched.

There had been a few texts from Charles this morning, asking how I was enjoying Hell, to which I had replied by saying that the Devil wears Prada (sadly it couldn't have been truer). I'd then proceeded to tell him about my evening at the beach. His next few texts had been full of swear words, all of them aimed at Jenna and her boyfriend.

I ended up playing games on my phone for the good part of an hour, until my mother sat down across from me. At least six shopping bags were clutched in her hands, most of them designer brands.

"I took the liberty of buying you a few things," my mother said. She handed me three of her bags. I raised my eyebrow. I was surprised that I had even crossed her mind. I was terrified to look in the bags, but I promised myself that it 1) had lace, 2) had pink 3) had ruffles or 4) was skimpy, then I would give them as a gift to Mackenzie.

To my shock, there were t-shirts, more leggings, a pair of Doc Martens, and actual not-ugly stuff.

"Thank you," I was about to call her Mom, but I caught myself, "Jessica." She sighed.

"Well, you obviously don't like the fashionable stuff, so I figured I would buy you whatever was the complete opposite of what Jenna would purchase," she said. "I would suggest that you pick your outfit of choice out the night before you wear it, and hang it in your room somewhere. That's what Jenna does."

"Sure," I said. That was so not going to happen.

"You do know that pizza isn't good for you," Jessica said, eyeing the plate in front of me, which held a few pizza crusts.

"I do know that," I replied. "I can start dieting any time, but I might as well enjoy the things I eat."

"That's what all non-dieters say. Dieting helps you keep your body healthy and in good shape. It's good for you," my mother said.

"Are you calling me fat?"

"No, of course not, but pizza can cause acne."

"I don't have acne."

"If you eat more pizza you'll get some."

"I'm fine with that," I said. My mother rolled her eyes.

I hope you enjoyed chapter eight! If you did, please vote. PLEASE.

- Lauren Emmy