It's Friday. Yesterday my mother apologized for choking me, but she also said I should "stop making such a big deal about it." It's not the best 'sorry' I've ever gotten, but it's the best one she'll ever give. The downside of this was that my mother correctly assumed that Zack was the one who had motivated me to seek an apology in the first place, I was grounded from seeing him. As of now, I'm sitting in 9th period English, wondering how the hell I'll explain my grades to my mom. You might have noticed, she and her son suck ass, and I don't come home unless I have to.
This is the chief reason why I don't get a lot of homework done, so my grades dropped from their low-A status to B's. I know, I know, it's not a big deal, but try telling that to my dad. The worst of all being the glaring F on the essay I had turned in the previous Monday. I think Ms. Honey is out to get me. It makes sense, seeing as she may have just further shattered my home life.
Am I going to get the shit beaten out of me? Maybe... Worse? You could bet your ass on it. The bell rings and I stay in my seat, staring at the F on my paper. The library is open until late, but I know that my parents would never believe I was out late studying. Ms. Honey collects the last of her things, gives me an insincere smile, and walks out the door without another word.
My paper is thrust angrily into my backpack as I rush out a few minutes later. Thankfully, Ms. Honey has already vacated the premises, along with the majority of the student body. It's nicer this way. I don't have to make eye contact with anyone, no one is bumping into me like a fucking idiot; it's just me, the hallway, and piles of school crap lining the floors.
My locker is all the way across the building, but with almost no one here it's easy to make the trip. Zack is waiting there, listening to his iPod and eating yet another Kit-Kat. I gently nudge him aside with my boot in an attempt to reach my locker.
"Woah, okay..." He rolled over. " I just wanted to talk to you... I haven't gotten to see you much. I thought we could walk out together or something." This proposition pierced through the cloud of doom hanging over my head, and I hurriedly unloaded my books into my locker. I pulled Zack off the floor and we walked down the empty hallway side by side until we burst through the front doors and onto the front pavement.
Zack's flippy-haired friend started shouting for him, and I edged further away as quickly as possible. The sandy-haired asswipe started bounding toward us, his long hair and army jacket flapping in the wind. I scanned the crowd for people on my bus, mostly to avoid Elliot's gaze. He's a sweet guy, but he has a tendency to come off a bit creepy. While conversing with Zack, Elliot eyes the still-minimal space between Zack and I, and then at my face as I continue to scan the road for my transport.
"What bus are you on?" Elliot asks with curiosity.
"69."
"Hah!" He laughed, then stopped himself, because no one was laughing with him. "Sorry... It left a while ago." I was overcome with the need to kick Elliot in the shin; just to shoot the messenger. He must sense my anger, because he quickly countered that fortunate gem of information with the following:
"Look, don't mad, I'll drive you home. I'm driving Zack home anyway."
I thanked Elliot for his generosity, then wondered why Zack would ride home with Elliot. Zack the Mind-Reader provided a logical answer.
"Carl was really, really high and he backed into my car when he went questing for Doritos." An awkward silence ensued, "I'm getting it back from the shop today." I nodded and we all headed toward Elliot's Mystery Machine. This van, unlike the actual Mystery Machine, only has two front seats, the rest of the van's floor in covered with an orange shag rug, throw pillows, and the scents of incense and vanilla lube. Elliot ushered us both into his freaky little pot-smoking back area and buckled himself up in the front, which looked sort of like Cheech's car in Up in Smoke.
After a bumpy, stick-shifty ride, we are outside Zack's house. Not mine. Zack's.
I'm screwed. Completely, utterly screwed. Zack runs up to his front door and I can almost hear the cartoon sound effects as he bounds up to the attic and back downstairs until he flings himself back into the van. He chucks a dime bag at Elliot's head, and Elliot responds by calmly handing him a $20 bill.
Elliot backs out and we head to my house. I sprint through the front door and close it behind me. I'm safe. It's 3:30, I'm on time, and the Mystery Machine is backing out of the driveway safely.
Unfortunately, my mother saw, and she's just a regular fucking hell fire. There's a print-out of grades being shoved in my face along with tons of yelling about burnouts and how they'll be the death of me. My dad is standing there with these disappointed eyes, like he's sorry but he's going to let her do this anyway. I'm caged against the door and she's still screaming.
Apparently I'm just as bad as Scott.
Apparently I'm useless.
I'm going nowhere, and I'm bringing my family down with me.
She doesn't hit me. Maybe it's because my dad is watching. Maybe it's because I haven't said a word. Or maybe it's because if she did, she knows I'd talk; and so she just keeps yelling.
It seems like hours of angry thoughts and blame because 'if I really tried, I could've held this family together'. She 'doesn't even think she can stand to see me anymore'. The doorknob behind me is turned. It's opened, and I find myself outside. It's shut. The lock clicks and I'm outside, alone.
Of all the things that could've happened, it was this. I take out my shitty little cell phone and flip it open to text Zack.
'There's nothing keeping me here now. Is it okay if you pick me up?'
I get an immediate response.
'I'll be there'
~
That Summer, At Home I Had Become the Invisible Boy-The Twilight Sad
