Removed

20

 No sooner have I popped one contact in my eye is there a rap on the door. The flimsy gray barrier slightly trembles as the noise resounds through the cramped space. My vision is half blurred, my left eye providing clear images while my right slightly distorted. After cursing my near sightedness, I yank open the door. There stands my mother, curled tendrils of her inky hair curtaining each side of her face. The rest of her hair has been neatly pinned behind her head.

Her icy eyes light up at the sigh of me, a smile worming its way onto her porcelain features. "Hey, Autumn. Almost ready for school?"

In a flash, guilt consumes me. Last night, I forgot about spending time with my parents. I had raced straight home to vent my thoughts through poetry. Etchers are conducting Chip checks soon, Cody's mother, Ingrid, is an enemy, and there's still that mysterious note. This is the worst possible time for my parents to decide I'm worth spending time with.

"I'm sorry I forgot about spending time with you last night. It's just-"

Mom cuts off my excuse by holding up her perfectly manicured hand. "It's alright," she sighs, her smile still dominant on her face. "I'm just glad you're finally hanging out with some friends."

My mouth hangs open slightly before I snap it shut. "Yeah, I guess it is." Secretly, I'm slightly enraged by her words. Of course she cares so much about my social life, about me finally becoming 'perfect'.

We fall into awkward silence as I glance around at the white walls surrounding us. To my left is the small vanity, which is also a pristine white, where my other contact rests. The shower is behind me, clear plastic curtains offering no shield from prying eyes. Then, my eyes snap back to my mother's. She's dressed in a silky rose blouse complimented by midnight tights. She's gorgeous, the silk flowing in just a way to show off her curves and slim figure. It makes the gears spin in my mind; aren't we all just expected to be carbon copies of each other? We have to be slim. We have to be smart. We have to be gorgeous. We should have money. We should be popular. Who ingrained this in our hearts? Ingrid Simon.

"Autumn?" Mom murmurs, her waving hand causing a light breeze to play with my hair.

I blink, absentmindedly swatting her hand away from my face. "Yes?"

"Hurry up and get ready. Your father and I are going to give you a lift to school," she informs me, sounding more like a secretary than a mother. After patting at her hair to ensure it's perfection, she walks down the hall. The dark blue carpet muffles the clacking of her ridiculously high heels.

After placing the other vision fixer in my other eye, I head downstairs. My bag is slung over my shoulder, hair, for once, tied back in a ponytail. I'm constantly tugging to make it tighter, the sensation of loosely tied hair one of the things that can drive me mad. Mom and Dad are already leaning against the front door. Mom's cream designer purse is loosely slung over her shoulder, Dad's hair ruffled in a stylish way. They both seem more sophisticated than me, though I'm wearing a designer gold shirt that gleams in any lighting and matching shorts. Maybe I'm just not as gorgeous as my parents, or as glamorous as Ash was. The thought causes my stomach to plummet and a feeling of dread to settle in the pit of it. How am I supposed to tackle all of the threatening situations at hand when I can't even be perfect?

"Autumn, are you ready?' Dad smiles warmly, the front door already propped open by his muscular arm.

Offering him a curve of my lips, I nod. The warmth of the morning air caresses me as I transition from air conditioning to the natural temperature of the Earth. Pinks and oranges dance across the sky, the sun peeking through the light scattering of clouds. Synthetic greenery sways in tune with the gentle breeze playing across my flesh. A small smile graces my visage as I examine the faux nature. Then, with a huff of breath, I amble over to the car. My mom is settled in the driver's seat even though the vehicle drives itself. Swiftly, my head swivels as I scan the yard for my father.