Glorified Losers

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

This time I swear, I didn’t do it.

I was such a good girl that day.

I didn’t sneak out the house, for the first time in a while.

I didn’t hook up with the wrong dude.

I didn’t get a detention for doing something uncalled for.

And I definitely didn’t steal Tyler’s blanket to throw it out the window for my own entertainment, or shout at him for being such a bad little brother.

If I hadn’t done all of those things, then why was Dad calling ‘Bloomfield Boarding School for Troubled Teens’? Did he not love me anymore?

I paced back and fourth between my green painted room nervously as I waited for something terrible to happen.  

“Mariah,” Dad called in his booming, angry voice from downstairs. “Get down here RIGHT NOW.” My hands shook as I twisted the doorknob of my bedroom door, and butterflies flew in my stomach. It felt like it only took two seconds when I finally left my room, but according to Dad:

“It’s been 10 minutes!” He yelled. “What’s taking you? Get downstairs this minute young lady!”

I dragged my bare feet down the red-rugged color stairs, and I entered the kitchen to electric-red hair dye in my furious Dad’s hands.

From the look on his face, I knew something bad was going to happen.

“Why?” He questioned me. “What were you thinking?”

“I-I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I thought the color was, you know, cute?”

 “Is it washable?”

“Err...” I twirled my thumbs glancing all over the kitchen, wishing that I could run away. “I kinda bleached it.”

Dad glared at me in an unforgiving way. “Beautiful blonde hair, to this ugly red hair. You disgust me, Mariah.”

“I’m so, so sorry!” I apologized, pleading for forgiveness.

“Does sorry get your original hair back?”

“No.” Dad didn’t lecture me anymore after I gave him an answer. He simply left with his Blackberry held carelessly in his right hand. 

He didn’t understand that I dyed my blonde hair out of anger. I was mad at how he called the Bloomfield Boarding School for Troubled Teens the day before, and I wanted to get him back one last time before I left.

I peeped into the living room, where he sat frustrated on the snow-white modern love seat. 

“Hey Dad,” I called, wishing he’d reply nicely.

“Not now,” He said. “I’m really mad at you.”

“What’s new. I have a question.”

“No,” He insisted, but I continued anyways.

“Do you  love me?”

“Not enough to not send you away. Face it Mariah. You’ve been acting like someone you originally weren’t ever since your mom died last year. I don’t mean to bring up the subject, but you need to know what’s bothering you. I love you, I really do, but you need to fix your attitude. That’s why I’m sending you away.” 

I hated it when he brought up the subject of Mom. He said it like he didn’t care; Just plain and hostile. Mom died in a car crash earlier last year, and of corse it was a touchy subject, so yeah.