No Strings

CHAPTER 6--Ghost in the Graveyard

I dragged my feet to the front hall where my mom sat, with the report card in her lap. I pressed my lips together, too afraid to look at it and dragged my feet. I already knew what was coming.

Her knuckles and lips turned white because she was pressing them so hard. Her back was straight and her eyes narrowed a fraction. "Why did you get a C?"

All the other grades on the report card were A's and B's. The A+ in History and Math meant nothing to her.

I wanted to answer with, "The teacher is difficult and refuses to curve grades. No one I knew got higher than a B-." But I couldn't say that.

Her eyes went hot and then cold in turns. She wanted an answer such as, "I didn't study enough."" I was dumb." "I don't deserve to be born."

Why was it important that the tectonic plates moved at an X amount of speed. Or what gases that volcanoes spewed. Even the teacher admitted that this was college level information, but tested us on it anyway. Igneous rock, I could understand why he would test us on? Sedimentary... but the exact crystalline composition of a sandstone? And it was as about interesting as picking up sand with a fork.

"You never apply yourself to anything... do you?" my mom asked. She took a long sigh. "This is why I didn't want kids, but if you'd turned out smart, maybe I would have reconsidered. But here you are, handicapping yourself for life. You'll become an adult and won't be able to support yourself. Say something."

Again I said nothing.

"That's what I thought I would say. Sad little accident you are. Look, if you don't get your grades up, I'm getting you a tutor. You better get those grades up. Quit your job until you do. We need to get you into college."

I shook my head.

"What? No? Are you refusing me?"

"I need the money to pay for Lillith's food," I said.

"That stupid snake? Who will take care of it when you go to college anyway? I'm not feeding it."

"I will take care of it in vocational school."

My mother liked to say that she liked plants that took care of themselves which is why they all died unless Dad watered them. When they died it was always his fault. Never hers.

"Vocational school? Why vocational school? You are going to a four year college."

"I want to go to vocational school to learn about advertising."

"You are not going to vocational school. What will you tell my friends?"

Sadness and anger welled up in me and said, "I don't care about your friends! I want to go."

"You are grounded for a month," my mom said.

Not that made much difference since no one was allowed to our house anyway.

"It's cheaper," I persisted.

"You will go to a four year college. Are we clear on that? Who will pay for this vocational school you plan to go to?"

"I don't need to go to a four-year college," I insisted.

"Simone's son went to college and became a Computer Engineer. Now he's rich. She tells me about it all the time."

"I don't want to become a Computer Engineer," I said.

"There will be more career opportunities for you in a four-year college."

"I want to become a Advertising Designer," I repeated. "I learned about it in school."

"And fail and work at McDonalds? You could become a nurse, at least... that makes decent money. Rather than working at Burger King."