I'd just like to say that this chapter does NOT intend racism in ANY way. The personality of Haley's mother is just how some people were bck in the 60's because things were just slowly making their way out of racism, but some people were still against races mingling and mixing, as a few still are today. But please, no one be offended by this chapter, I myself am both black and white, so don't get upset by this.
"Oh he was just scared of . . . what his dad would do if he was home too late." Emma finished. She looked at Michael.
"We should go then." I suggested. I had strange feeling that she was lying to me though.
Emma and Michael stood up and we began walking back home.
Emma's P.O.V
On the way home I kept thinking of the ways I could get either of them to say how they feel; but they were both too shy to do anything vague so I was really wracking my brain.
I finally had an idea, but I had to be quick. I pulled Michael next to me and gave him a proposition, "if you kiss her, I'll do something for you, really." I whispered in his ear.
"What would you do?"
"Anything." I breathed out. The things I get myself into for my friends . . .
"Not now." he said.
"Whenever you're ready." I agreed. I pushed him up by Haley again, who was oblivious to his brief absence from her side. He ran into her back, "oh, sorry, Hales." he said smiling at her. Aw, he gave her a nickname! He shot me an annoyed look.
"It's fine." Haley said blushing. It irritated me, I mean, knowing that two people are so perfect for each other, but don't do anything about it; even if they are young it shouldn't matter. Although I would find a way no matter how long it took. Oh yes, I would . . .
Haley's P.O.V
When I got home I went straight to the kitchen and got a lollipop out of the jar. I never needed to ask, my mom just said no more than one a day. I went over to the table and climbed on one of the stools and sat in silence while I licked. I looked out of the window up at the sky, thinking of Michael and the strange tingly feeling I got when he touched me. I tried not to, so he wouldn't cloud my thoughts but I just couldn't help it.
"HALEY RYAN!" my mother's shrill voice shrieked though the house. I pulled the lollipop out of my mouth and turned around to see my mom coming towards me with her hands on her hips and a death glare lurking in her eyes. And let me tell you, if looks could kill, I'd be ten feet under by now.
When she finally reached me I was beyond terrified and probably looking very vulnerable. But that her rage one bit.
"What is wrong with you?!" she yelled, taking the sucker from my hand and throwing it on the floor.
"I--- I, what?" I stuttered; I was so confused and afraid.
"I tell you not to be around those blacks and what do you do? You do the exact opposite, you filthy girl." she spat the last part.
"But mom, they're great people, especially Michael. He's very nice to me." I argued softly.
She got incredibly close to my face, "I don't give a damn of how 'great' they are. Even Michael. " she sneered his name. I gathered up all the courage I had in my tiny body before I spoke, "well you should give a damn because he's my friend. And you are wrong, mother." I said in a strong voice.
She raised her eyebrows and smiled evily. Then without warning any she brought up her hand and whacked my face with it. It made a loud 'smack' when the two collided.
The force was so hard that I fell off of the stool and onto the floor. My hands flew to where she hit me, protecting it from further abuse.
"Don't you dare tell me what I'm right or wrong about." she said.
"Why won't you just give them a chance?" I said as I started sobbing. I think I got her madder than before. She took off the belt she was wearing, folded it in half, then slashed my shins. I screamed when I realized that they were bleeding.
"Oh, shut up, you know you deserved that." she said, acting as if someone had only called me a name.
Alright, I understand that I shouldn't have cursed at her, but defiling your mother and sticking up for what I knew was right are two completely different things.
"You will never ever talk to this Michael boy again, understand?" she ordered, staring me down. I stayed quiet; I knew that if I said anything else it wound't be very helpful to me.
"Good, now go clean yourself up. You look like a mess." she instructed. I quickly got off the floor and ran up the stairs and into my bedroom. I locked the door behind me and leaned against the wall. I slid down as I began crying my eyes out, not because of the striking pain on my legs or the burning sensation on my face; but simply because she said, no, declared that I never talk to Michael again.
It just wasn't fair! The one time I actually like a boy, I can't even say a word to him!
Sometimes life gets hard I guess, but knew I had to find some way to make it work. Then something my grandpa used to tell me popped into my head, "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade."
Although I had something a little different in mind.
"When life give you lemons, squeeze the juice out of them into your racist mother's eyes so she'll suffer . . . a lot."
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