The 7th Mother-Daughter-Book-Club (#Wattys2016)

Cassidy

The school is an idiot.
I'm looking in my mirror, glaring at my reflection. The shirt isn't so bad - even if mom made me get that weird maroon color which is NOT red socks red, thank you very much. It's the skirt I can't stand.
It's a butt ugly khaki thing that's supposed to be gold but is really a disgusting shade of ear wax, which I personally think would look better as shorts. It's a bit short - big shock there, considering I'm 6 feet tall - and poofs out a little bit.
I hate it.
I say goodbye to my friends, who are still smiling about my outburst, as the 5th period bell rings. It's art, and my heart does a weird frog jump thing as I realize I have that class with who I guess is my boyfriend, Tristan Berkley.
   I give him a shy smile as I slide into my seat next to him. He flashes me a quick grin before focusing on our art teacher this year, Ms. Bailee. 
    Ms. Bailee is young, probably mid-twenties, with shoulder-length light brown hair and curious grey eyes. She clearly doesn't notice us, because she is busy picking a scar on her elbow. I give a gentle cough and she looks up, startled.
    "Sorry, guys." She blushes, clearly embarrassed "I'm new here, and, well.." Her voice trails off and she sighs. "Today's assignment is to express yourself - show me who you are through your art? Ok?"
       We nod and rush off to grab our tools. By the time I get to the art room, though, all that's left are some paint brushes, jewels, and a pencil.
I grab the pencil.

     I stare at my paper, unsure of what to do when Ms. Bailee walks by.
   "Just let your pencil fly." She whispers.
So I did.

About 45 minutes later, I notice the class is silent, crowded around my paper. Mrs Bailey picks it up, and says to me softly, "Oh, Cassidy..... Who is this?" I look down at my picture and suck in a breathe.
     It's the picture of me and dad, in the beach - the one I took the week before.... Even now, I still struggle to say the D word.
     My eyes sting and I feel Tristan's hand touch my shoulder. I pull away, And I look up to find his eyes have hardened. I feel trapped,  So I do the only thing I can think of.
I run.

Our school is around 113 years old. Downstairs we have an old, rickety bathroom everyone avoids because it's "haunted." I run in, knowing no one will go after me.
     Knowing this is pathetic, but still angry and embarrassed, I lock myself in the stall and cry - I'm afraid of anyone seeing Big, Bad Cassidy Sloane this weak.

After school I text my mom that I'm going to the rink, and I'll be home by five.  We're hosting book club tonight, and I need to calm down before then.
         I lace up my skates, and bolt out onto the ice, traveling in fast,  angry circles. No one is here - the rink closes at three on weekdays, but I'm allowed because of Chicks With Sticks - so I allow myself to talk in a normal voice instead if a whisper as I curse our teachers name around the rink, skating harder and faster.
    After an hour, tears  are frozen to my face and I'm exhausted. I collapse in a heap, not expecting to be held up. I look up to see Tristan staring down at me, his eyes still cold. I think about art class again and to my horror, I burst out crying. Tristan's eyes soften and he wraps me in a hug as my tears soak his shirt. His hands stroke my hair gently and I calm down. He looks at me, both sympathizing and angry, and asks me,
    "Cassidy, why didn't you tell me?"
I look down at the ice wordlessly, feeling small.  Tristan just nods and leads me out of the rink and home.

A/N Hey guys.... Before you fire your weapons, I'd like to apologize. I have absolutely no excuse for the long wait. I added some Cristen fluff to make up for it, though! Check out some other work by me, which I HAVE updated if u need something to read. I'm again, so sorry!!!

- Trinity Rebel