Dropout

I aim for rejection.

I don't know why, it's just something I do.

While all the goodie-goodies and honor students are aiming for those big colleges and big med school combos, I'm shooting low -- like waaaay low.  I'm not talking just below-the-radar low -- no way.  I'm talking can't-even-see-the-damn-radar low.  I'm talking nobody-knows-Wilhelmina-Key low, no-college-wants-Will low, Will-got-held-back-three-times-including-kindergarten low.  That kind of low.

I'm so low that I don't even have to be a stoner to be considered apart of that class, or clique, or whatever the hell you want to call it.  Hell, I just out of my second time around in sophomore year.

Don't get me wrong - I'm a smart kid.  No, really -- I am!

I can't believe that I dropped out only yesterday.  I seriously almost started getting ready for school this morning.  My mom thinks I'm nuts (and hell, maybe I am), but what does she know?  She hasn't had herself as a mother.

Bipolar teacher bitch.

So I've filed for emancipation.

Oh, don't look at me that way.

Really, if you knew my mom, you'd understand.  I've been living away from her since my freshman year.  She pops in every other day to tell me to brush my teeth and do the dishes, even though she knows that I take better care of myself than she ever did.  It's like, she knows she didn't do shit for me growing up, so now she wants to control my life.  So I'm living with some kid from another school with drunkards for parents named Leona.  I manage my own money well enough -- standing on the corner in front of McDonald's with a guitar and my voice pays well enough, I guess.  It's not like I'm a complete deadbeat with no job, no money, no education, like my mom likes to think.  Really, just because I dyed my blonde hair cherry red and pierced my lip and eyebrow doesn't mean I'm some low-life idiot.  I'm making my way in the world of music, as far as I'm concerned.

Or at least, I'm trying to.  I haven't actually had an audition yet.  I have one tomorrow, three o' clock.  I think the band's name is Needless Hypothesis -- a rock band in need of a front(wo)man.  I hope they hate me, so I can walk away with a smile knowing that I've victoriously failed.

I'm just weird like that.

"Will."

I turn around in my dust-covered room in our dust-covered apartment to find Kyleigh.

"Dear God, what the hell happened?"  I interrogate, because Kyle looks scared shitless.  Kyle is only frightened when something is wrong with Leona (and I wouldn't particularly blame  her, because Leona can be one scary bitch when she gets into one of her moods).

"Leona's locked herself in the bathroom again," Kyle says without a trace of fear in her voice, even though it's pretty damn obvious in her eyes.

"Just let her stay in there, she'll come out eventually.  She always does."

"But she's threatening to kill herself."

"Kyle, she's always threatening to kill herself."

"I think she's, like, seriously serious this time, though."

"Why?"

"Because she --"

"DON'T YOU DARE TELL HER A DAMN THING, KYLE!"  We hear Leona's shrieking voice from across the apartment and I flinch.  Damn.  This shit's serious.

"KYLE CAN TELL ME ANYTHING SHE DAMN WELL LIKES!"  I screech back at her.  Then, to Kyle, I say, "I'll be there in a second."

Ten minutes later I've picked the lock on the bathroom door to discover Leona sitting the bathtub, fully clothed, with the water running.  She's holding a plastic butter knife to her wrist, but we both know that she won't do a thing.  We both know because,