Boycotting Blue

05/Lou

Lou

 

 

I unlocked the door to my house, unsurprised that nobody was home. Mom was probably…. Off doing Mom-type stuff. Shopping for groceries for our personal chef, buying clothes she wouldn’t wear. And Dad was probably working and wouldn’t be home until the wee hours of the morning.

    I closed the door behind me, locking it as I took a final glimpse of an angry, angry Juan pulled Blue inside the house by his ear. A little smile crossed my face before I pushed it back. Just because I had found one boy that didn’t care what my mother did, didn’t mean I had a friend. I was not about to break my rules for Blue. Even if he was nice to me, he was still a bad boy. Juan had advised I become his friend, not become his little flirt-buddy. I wasn’t stooping down to that level.

    I took a deep breath, leaning against the door to my house. My house was spotless, as usual, thanks to our amazing cleaning staff. The living room couches were white and soft. The carpet was cleaned to perfection. Our walls had nothing on them, and were scrubbed to my perfection. Our coffee table had nary a finger print. Our entertainment center was spotless and dusted, everything neat and organized. Even our huge, big screen TV had been dusted and wiped to give our living room a friendly, open look to it.

   Rolling my eyes, I sat my backpack down by the door, ditching my shoes and padding across the carpet in my socks. The softness of the carpet was not missed by my feet. I grabbed the remote and put on ESPN, turning the volume up to let the maids know I was here. And Palo, our personal chef, who disliked me because I wanted to cook myself.

   I continued the walk to my room, pulling my cell phone out of my pocket. I didn’t know why. I had not a single friend I would be talking to right now. My brother, possibly, but he was probably at practice, lifting weights or something. I texted him a quick, had a good day, even though it was a lie.

   Up until meeting with Blue, everything had went downhill from this morning. Without Mario around to protect me, the teasing had went from the usual “how’s your mom?” to avid descriptions of what they were going to do to my mom. My lack of a sex life had been put on display, dusted off, and then passed around for everybody to talk about. It wasn’t like I hadn’t heard the whispers—or, in some cases, shouts—that came my way; it was just that I had to ignore them or risk embarrassing myself. I kept to myself and stayed in view of teachers, who wouldn’t say anything anyway. They disapproved of my mother’s life style, and always made sure to say something about it when I was within ear shot. Usually along the lines of, “I don’t see how anybody can parade themselves around naked on camera.” And then they would wrinkle up their noses and frown, shooting me a look like it was my fault my mom liked to have sex for millions to view.

   Or like I could do anything about it. I had begged my mom to stop—for my sake, at least—but she only rolled her eyes and told me “not to care what anybody thought.” And I didn’t care what anybody thought about me. But I was protecting her. I might’ve been disgusted by her, but she was still my mom. At the end of the day, I didn’t like what people said about her. And, yes, it was selfish of me to want her to stop doing something, but she was affecting the whole family. I was once turned down for a job because my coworkers would’ve been predominantly male.

    And, maybe, just maybe, the teasing, stares, and lack of friendships had gotten to me. I hated to admit it, but I needed friends in my life. Being lonely wasn’t fun. I actually loved to talk, but everything I said became so twisted, I usually kept my mouth shut. I didn’t trust people.

    I opened the door to my room, banishing the thoughts from my head. Dwelling on the past wouldn’t help me at all. I could only focus on the present. And the present was my cool room, my laptop booted up and charged, waiting for me on my bed, and my favorite pair of sweats screaming my name.