Broken Cravings (REVISING AND REWRITING)

Broken Cravings; Three

As I stepped into the house, I was greeted by an overwhelming sense of disarray. The living room was cluttered and dirty, and no sign of my dad. With a sigh, I calmly placed my bookbag on the end table and started to clean up the mess, muttering under my breath as I gathered scraps of newspaper and picked up empty bottles. The vacuum cleaner hummed as I tackled the remaining debris, filling the air with a dull roar.

While waiting for my pizza rolls to heat up in the microwave, memories of my ballet days flooded my mind. I recalled how my mom used to take me to practice every day, her careful attention ensuring that my dance gear was always meticulously maintained.

As I pondered over these memories, my thoughts inevitably turned to my mom's tragic end. The question of why she had chosen to end her own life had always haunted me, and I found myself lost in contemplation. Suddenly, the phone rang, and "Styles, Harold" flashed on the caller ID. I hesitantly picked up the phone, feeling a surge of nervousness as I anticipated the conversation.

The voice on the other end, belonging to Harold, was unfamiliar yet strangely captivating. He asked to speak with Mr. Terrance, and a mix of emotions, including nervousness and discomfort, washed over me during our brief exchange. Harold expressed concern about my declining grades and suggested tutoring to help me improve. He even hinted at the possibility of involving my father and seeking a mental evaluation if I failed to show improvement.

Despite my nerves, I felt a twinge of gratitude for the opportunity and assured Harold that I would strive to perform better. As we ended the call, Mr.Harold's last kind remark lingered in my mind, leaving me unable to suppress a smile as I imagined his empathetic and understanding nature.