Sarah, Smiling

Chapter One

Sigh.

     Having a rich, eccentric aunt isn't actually fun and games.

Okay, I lied. It's hilarious and fantastic. Every moment is an adventure.

Just not this moment. 

   My dear, crazy, enigmatic aunty decided (after going through a "Mean Girls" movie marathon) that I would have to go to that one thing she claims ALL teenagers should experience: high school. I scoff at the mere mention of it. Isn't that the source of many a nightmare and anxiety? With mean teachers and cliques and bullying and god WHO knows what!? I mean, I haven't even gone to middle school, that's like the diluted bitchiness of high school. Home school: it's not for everyone. Home school: it's what's for breakfast(, lunch and dinner).

   Oh, god, I think she's rubbing off on me. I'm not even that foreign! Just a bit of an accent, but really, my dad completely Americanized me beforehand, Sarah, he used to say. You have to be ready for anything.

   Not that that particular bit of wisdom helped much when he got cancer and um, DIED. Just like he promised he wouldn't! Darling, I promise I won't ever leave you.

   God. I have GOT to stop thinking about it. It was two years ago, and I thought I'd gotten past all of that old hurt. But what's the difference? Old hurt, new hurt, hurts just the same. Maybe trying to immerse myself in silly, lighthearted American teens wouldn't be so bad, if it got my mind off of my father--him.

   No, no, no! Homeschooling was his idea, so I should honor it but...oh no. I definitely need a break. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad? God. My aunt will be so pleased. She might even squeal again, not that anyone needs to hear that again. Like a slasher film. Like a dying guinea pig. Like my singing!

   Jesus. Sophmore year. If I could whistle without looking like a complete idiot I would. A low one, to express my amazement. I guess I should call my aunt before making any attempts to do so. 

   I pull out my new iPhone and start to dial. One ring, then two go by as I wait for her to pick up. Click. "Hello, dear, have you considered my proposal?"

   "Yes, Auntie."

   "And your answer is...?"

   "...sure." I mumbled, not wanting to say it loud enough for her to brag.

   "Excuse me? I ddin't quite hear you, dear." The old bag was practically crowing, I could hear in her voice how infuriatingly smug she was.

   "I said 'sure', ya old bag!" I shouted into the telephone. She won't let this go for days, I just know it. 

   "Now, Sarah, thirty is hardly 'old'," she smirked.

    "You're not even thirty! How my father is related to you is beyond me!"

   "Ah, that's right..." she crooned, pretending to be surprised. "I'm only twenty-seven."

   I ground my teeth together. We both knew she was lying through her teeth about not remembering her age. She was counting the days as they flew by. "Give it up, Marta."

   "Now, Sarah, it isn't proper for you to call your darling aunt by her first name!" Marta continued.

   "You're going to drive me insane one day!" I yelled at her.

   "And you're going to burst my eardrum one day," she giggled. "Whispering: it's what's for breakfast."

   "Aaghhghh!" I grunt/moan/wailed. "That didn't even make sense!" 

I hung up to the sound of her giggles.

I'd better prepare for tomorrow.

                         011001

   Ricky, my stylist, eyed my black hair disapprovingly.

"Are you sure you want to go pink?" he asked for the millionth time.

"Yes, Rick, I'm sure. Now, cut it and style it ready-set-go!" He glared at me.

"A, honey, I'm not a dog. B, sweetums, don't call me 'Rick'. That brings up memories of my father." Ricky put on a falsetto, grunting. "No grunt son of mine is a grunt little prissy fag."

   I melted. "I'm sorry, o gorgeous Ricardo. I wish many inside-and-out beautiful homosexual boys your way." He curtsied behind me, the mirror showing me what he was doing.

   "Aye, lass," he put on a fake Scottish accent. "Anything for milady," he dropped the accent, "the one who pays my check every month." 

  "If I was standing, I'd've shoved you by now," I giggled, looking at him dreamily.

   "Shhh." Ricky soothed me. "Nap, princess. Your hair will be done by then."

And I drifted into pink-filled sleep.