In My Blood

One

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes.

That's how long I've been here, and already I feel like crawling back into the bird's nest I call my bed, like the sun-hating troglodyte I am.

California. Of all the places my mother had to choose for us to flee from the meth-loving, gun-slinging deadbeat I am privileged to have as a father, she had to choose the state where everyone looks like they've just walked out of a photo shoot. She also happened to decide that San Diego, the closest city in California to Mexico would be the perfect place to move to, and it would be, except for one thing. This is the first place that my father, who is of Mexican descent, would look, especially since my mother has been nagging him for the past five years about how 'amazing' and 'special' it would be to live in the Golden state.

"School!" came an excited squeal from the back of my mom's minivan, the one that we drove all the way from Seattle with and the one my brother, Matias and I nicknamed la Vaca, on account of how much fuel it used up, despite not being able to move more than 40 miles per hour.

I turned around to see my brother strapped into his car seat, next to his Barney backpack, the one I bought for him back in Seattle to commemorate his first year of school, the school we had to leave in the middle of the year because of the worst yet of our father's drunken rampages.

As my mom pulled over in front of the school, I opened the car door and got out.

"Bye Mo-"I began, but trailed off as I noticed that she had already exited the car, and was now unbuckling Matias from his chair. "Uh Mom, what're you doing?

"What, you expected that you'd enter the school on your own?" she scoffed, not looking at me, but rather shooting a determined look at the broken buckle cradling my brother, meant to make him giggle.

"Mom, I can get in myself," I argued, not wanting to walk into any public edifice with her.

"I know that perfectly well, but remember, it is your first day and I have to make sure that your registration is complete." She said cooing at my little brother, who now sat bouncing in her arms. "Ready to go?" She asked, looking at me for the first time since we pulled up to the giant building.

Not wanting to make a huge scene in front of everyone, I reluctantly followed her.

Inside the building, I pulled my hood over my head and thrust my hands into my pockets, stalking after my mother and brother, who, as per usual were the topic of discussion and envy amongst the gorgeous students in the hallways. It was almost like she was the supermodel and the hallway was her catwalk.

Next to the ray of sunshine that was my mother, I looked like the spawn of Satan. Even my brother, despite being only three years old looked much, much better than I did, with his dark, curly hair and striking blue eyes. He had inherited all the best physical traits of our parents, while I had inherited the worst; large brown eyes which were out of proportion with the rest of my face, large lips that put Angelina Jolie to shame, and an awkward frame, with arms and thighs that look like small trees.

True to my earlier metaphor, my mother was going to be a model. With her wavy blonde hair and wide blue eyes, many wonder how the hell she didn't make it. Well truth be told, it's my fault that she didn't become the most famous model in the world; right before she was signed to a contract with a world-class modeling agency, I came along and wrecked her dreams. She would never admit it, but I'm fairly sure that she blames me for her all the crap that went down in her life.

After a few moments of walking in complete silence, a stillness periodically broken by the low hum of mutters and whispers from god-like student to another, we reached the school's office.

The prehistoric lady behind the desk glared at us as we entered. Surely, she thought we were one of the strangest groups of people to walk in all day; a seemingly random group of people who looked nothing alike, composed of a dazzling sun doll, a three year-old supermodel and a future delinquent.

"Welcome to Agaue Secondary School, the finest high school in San Diego," said the dinosaur, eyeballing my mother's tattoos, which were visible on her arms on account of the white muscle shirt she wore.

"Hello there," smiled my mother, oblivious to any offense the lady had meant," My name is Emily Harris, and I'm here to make sure that I registered my daughter, Ximena Alvares properly."

The lady nodded and clicked away at her computer that seemed just as Jurassic as she did.

"You know, it was so difficult registering her," My mother began again, causing the lady to look up from her perusing of the school's student log and raise her eyebrows at her, giving her a look that said that she was planning on force feeding her poison, a look that my mother ignored yet again. "Especially since I've never actually registered any of my kids to high school. Well, granted that this one (she said while pointing at me) has only just started, and this one (she said, lifting up Matias) is just three,"

My mother continued rattling on for another five minutes, much to my annoyance, in addition to that of the old lady, who looked just about ready to shank her.

"Well then!" The lady exclaimed with an edge of finality, cutting off my mother's train of speech," Miss Alvares, you've been successfully registered. Your first class is in Mr. Sanders' class; room 207. Locker number 98 is yours."

"Thanks," I muttered.

"All right Ximena, I've got to get going. I have to drop your brother off at his new school," my mother said, kissing me on my forehead.

Time for my first day in Hell.


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