A Minor Offense

Confidence and a little bit of acting

AUTHORS NOTE: I know in the beginning of the story I said it was the end of summer, but I've decided to change this. (Well because I can lol; that and I've changed my plot.) it is now the BEGINNING of summer. Okay? The summer before her 12th grade year and she is 17. Thanks. Enjoy.

Chapter 06:

Because I had gotten a ride from Beau, I called myself a cab once leaving the hospital.

I didn't have my tooth brush that morning because I stayed at Beau's and I desperately needed to brush my teeth and take a shower.

When the taxi dropped me off at my house I dug whatever change I had in my pocket out and ended up being thirty two cents short.

"Hmmm." His eyes slithered down my body and I had to stop myself from gagging. "Pretty girl, so I will let it slide." He took one more look down my body and I muttered a 'thanks' before freeing myself from the car. Okay, so I did appreciate him 'letting it slide' but he did creep me out quite a bit.

I dug in my purse before stupidly remembering my house key was inside. I knocked on the door, hoping my mom was awake.

Thankfully, she was. The door unlocked and she walked away without even talking to me. Strange.

"Mom?" I inquisitively called at her retreating back as I closed and locked the door.

She turned to me and I gasped. Her eyes were blood shot, and quite frankly she looked like shit.

"I'm so sorry I'm such a bad mother, Arielle." She sunk into the sofa and my heart ached at her sullen form.

"Come on Mama," I said in a light tone to help soothe her. "You're the best. You raised me all on your own, you're the strongest and best mother I know." I sat next to her on the plush sofa, that looked like it belonged in some soap opera. How cliché.

"The best mother doesn't get laid off."

"Oh, Mama." My mom erupted into sobs and I wrapped my arms around her. We always got through hard times. We've never really had money.

Rage filled me. Absolute rage. And it was targeted at one man and one man only, my father.

Hours later I sat perched on the end of the bed, thinking of what the word father meant; my moms sobs coming from the closed door of her room had become my background noise for the last several hours.

Father. The word sounded foreign in my head, because of my lack of one. Fathers are suppose to be there to interrogate their daughter's boyfriends, buy them stuffed animals and call them unattractive nick names like pumpkin or rug rat.

I should've had a father to do these things, and I honestly don't know how my mom raised me all on her own.

My mom was Anna Lee James, the strongest women that I knew. Yet she was so weak.

We had always been poor. I used the money from my summer jobs to get my school clothes. This summer I hadn't had a job, but I couldn't help feel guilty of this fact; because now was the time that I needed one more then ever.

All though it's only been summer for two weeks, I knew I had to get a job. And not for clothes, but for my mom. Because she needed this.

As a child it never bothered me that I couldn't have the newest shoes or couldn't fly to Disney world.

In fact, I liked having a small town house (that we can barely make rent for) to share with my mom. The kitchen was humiliatingly small, and I decided a long time ago that the kitchen does NOT like having two people in it at the same time, so we usually ate in the dining room that was a bit bigger. (Barely).