That Boy

Orientation (if one would call it that)

The excruciating pain of child birth couldn't compare to this. My damned toe hitting the bed post. And I nursed myself back to health the best way I could, diving head first back into my bed.

"It's almost nine. And just so you know I can't take you to school. Gotta go finalize some stuff at work so-"

I wasn't surprised. And I don't think I ever would be. Charlotte Zheng had no time for anything that kept her away from that oak desk on 21st floor.

Including me.

But I was adopted so I shouldn't really complain. My life was overflowing with the wealth of my parents and their love. No matter how distant it seemed.

The only thing I didn't have, however, was time.

Time to enjoy my fleeting years of adolescence before I had to take my mother's place at her company. The company where she fought her way to the top. And who was I to tell her that I didn't want to be the legacy she proclaimed me to be.

It was the only thing she had left to hold onto after all.

...

"-and here we have the student lounge, where you can chillax or totally skip class! It's our upperclassmen's most prized possession."

I don't know which seemed worse. This stupid tour or shoving a prickly stick up my ass.

It was obvious she was the typical cheerleader. Not a total bitch, but not a jovial person either. The nice one.

"And our last stop, the admin office. Principal Keller is waiting for you inside."

Nodding my head, I walked through the double doors without much of an acknowledgement to my tour guide. I'm sure I could see the peeling labels on the doors of all the first floor rooms without her. She hadn't even bothered showing me where my classes were. Which, by the way, happened to be everywhere but on this floor.

Within a few minutes I was seated in the office of a balding Mr. Keller, who clearly reveled in the glory days of his football years, judging by all the old trophies and photos from the 80's.

"So, Ms. Zheng. The administration and I believe that it would be of your best interest if we placed you a club to help with your, um, special situation."

"Is this because I'm one of few cookies in the vanilla ice cream?"

I've been told I was owner to very haunting rbf and I prayed to the gods I was wearing it now.

"Uh, I'm not quite sure what you mean, dear. I was referring to you having, well, two mothers."

Oh fuck this spastic baby boomer.

"I'm sure I'm not the only one in this entire school with two mothers! Ever heard of step-moms."

He picked at the dirt under his nails, and it almost disgusted me more than his cheap attempt of providing me with comfort.

"Yes. But you're the only one adopted by lesbian parents."

If I wasn't chewing on his every word I would've missed it.

Why does it even matter? They're divorced anyway.

And it's 20 fucking 17! What's the big deal?

But I knew what the deal was. I knew what they would say and do. Even if this was America the land of the free. Pfft.

"Let me guess, some LGBTQ support club to give me friends since no one else is gonna want to-"

"Oh god no! It's a club for adopted teens."

Oh.

And once again you manage to make your parents' sexuality a dark shadow to follow you, Mars.

"Yea, that's cool. I don't mind."

He wore a tight lipped smile and gestured towards the door.

Thank goodness.

Grabbing my stuff, I shuffled between the doorframe and the plump secretary trying to get her way into the office.

The smell of disinfectant and used tampons trapped me as I made my way into the bathroom across the hall.

Why are we in here all the time?

Oh yeah, hiding away from sleazy males and awkward situations.

I knew within myself why I was to quick to assume all that in the office. It's happened before, and somehow it managed to limit my friends to my roommates and a few classmates at boarding school.

I didn't get it. I was not my parents. And even then there's nothing wrong with them as far as I can see.

Stupid adoption club. I am perfectly capable of making friends without any help

"No the hell you aren't."

My familiar brown face stared back at me in the streaky mirror.

"You are an awkward, socially anxious 16 year old, who flinches at the word moist. You need all the help you can get."

I know.

But I can still make friends right? I'm smart. Enough. And I like Teen Wolf and Twilight. That's already two groups of potential candidates for friends.

But you also take meds for your anxiety and freak out when you forget to take your vitamins.

"I am really not liking the negativity here, Mar."

I glared at the girl staring back at me and pointed at her nose.

"See this is why you aren't gonna make friends!"

The annoying ringing of my watch interrupted my meaningful conversation. Does no one respect self-communication anymore? I am a appalled. Disgusted.

Glancing down at my wrist, the black numbers glared back at me.

12:30

And now I'm late.

Steve Harvey, honey, I'm so sorry. I'll be there.