Of Jerks & Drama

Chapter 3

"I hate you."

Hate is never something you anticipate having to constantly face in your life. Hate isn't something you hope for when you're walking into class on your first ever day of school.

When you're really young, all you know is the color of your parents eyes when they look at you, and the wallpaper in your bedroom, and the glint of spit on chewed up toys. You only see hate in unpleasant little glimpses. Slight argument. Tiny disagreement. A scolding or two.

But sooner or later it hits. Hate is the most unwelcoming gift on the birthday you never really wanted nor asked for.

That's how it feels, for a person you used to know every single detail about you hate you. It's a nightmare all on its own. Considering the fact I don't know what I did to make him mad enough to hate me, makes it even worse.

I heave a sigh and stare at the stick on stars Ryan and I spent hours jumping on my bed trying to stick.

I turn to my phone on the bedside table, charging, I click the home button and find out it's just a couple minutes to the time I have to get up for school.

"Well then." I get up and go to the bathroom to do my morning business.

Yesterday (Sunday) was terrible, Foster came over by Groovy Smoothy and spent a total of five hours there; ordering, making messes (which I was obligated to clean with a damn smile on my face), talking and flirting with other girls, making yesterday total hell for me.

I barely even got any shot eye last night and now I'm up Monday morning for school. It's like his plan is to mess me up, which is kind of already working.

He treats me like a piece of gum under his shoe, like dirt. The way those girls by him laughed at me as he kept tipping out the contents of his cup onto the floor for me to clean. And what did Riley do about it? Nothing, because as soon as he does those kind of things to me, I've suddenly forgotten how to speak, it's like there's a lump in my throat that is preventing me from calling him out.

I stand under the shower head and let the hot water wash away the soap from my hair and the rest of my body.

After I'm done, I dry my body and pick out a simple outfit to fit the cold weather; a skinny black jeans, a grey sweater and my battered converses.

There's not much I can do with my damp curls other than put it in a ponytail because if I want to make to homeroom with my bike, I have to leave now.

I skip down the stairs, into the kitchen and find my mom on her laptop with a pencil in her mouth.

"Morning." I greet.

"Hey hon." She replies, she looks up and drops the pencil. "Want some breakfast?" She asks with a glint of humor laced in her words.

We both rumble with annoying laughter. "I'd rather starve, thank you." I say after we've both caught our breaths.

She puts her hands up, surrendering.

I grab a banana and was about leaving when she stopped me.

"Hey!" She calls out. "Foster's got a car and he's about leaving-"

"I'm okay." I cut her short before she could finish her sentence and wave her off.

I get my bike out of the garage and I mount on it. I pass by Foster's house and I find him against his royal blue Ford.

As soon as I pass him, I hear his door slam and he starts the car. In no second, his car passes me but not before splashing me with some dirty water. I sigh and pull over to the side of the road and take a look at the damage.