We live in separate lights

Introductory

I am a junior at Grey valley high school, well known among the staff for my extracurricular involvements. Mr. Ross is the Trigonometry teacher, who gives me detention twice a week for doing nothing wrong. I hate him for it but do what I'm told. In that desk, watching the hours tick by.
Also, I'm a cashier at an antique mall filled with a monstrous supply of crap no one uses. I spend my time there cutting the legs off rubber jacks with scissors and putting them into separate gallon sized zip lock bags based on color and transparency.
My mood is tumultuous yet my expression stays basic. My mother blames that on my "crowd" of gothic interest. It's always in the grocery store, the laundry room, now the car. Flat faced on the interstate is seeming more like a viable option."Join drama!" She says. "It'll be fun!"
I say I get enough of that at home. She's startled at my voice but decides to take what she can get.
My father is outside the house, around the bend. He's on the phone with his banker. "Did it come in?" He says, his voice more hopeful than when I ever see his face. "I'll see you Thursday."
He rounds the corner and his eyes sink. " I was just talking to Mr. Evans." He pats my head and walks inside.
I get a pad and pencil from where I keep them hidden outside.
"I regret many things.
The hours spent teased by my teacher.
Not knowing how to get his germs off my body.
I regret how I fell into the habit of taking pride in being objectified because it meant I was wanted. I wasted myself for money at fifteen.
I regret the exception I made for you tonight, when I spoke to you for the first time in twelve weeks.
I regret the minute ways I showed off my psychopathia to blow off steam without letting anyone see. I should have been screaming about it from the steeple of downtowns Grey episcopalI.
I should have brandished my conked mind so they could throw me into a padded room somewhere.
At least that would get me out of the hellhole you've spun for me out of ramen noodles, cheap pain pills, and neglect.
I should've told you I know you're hoeing yourself out with the stage manager at Grey theatre. You're not fooling anyone. Women like you don't get smiles like that. They don't get push up bras like that either.
I would always regret not telling you that dad's saving money and he's leaving you because he's gay and he now he's in love with Reed Evans, the banker who helped him calculate alimony.
All that's left of me for the outside world to see will be you, dad, Mr. Clyde Ross and eleven gallons of dismembered jacks. If I could do it over, they wouldn't be color coded. They would be as scattered as they are unsalvageable"