After 45 awful minutes of my parents complaining on the city bus, we were home.
I put Charlie to bed and sent my parents to their room.
I walked to my bedroom, William trailing behind me.
I turned off my lamp and laid down in bed, thinking.
Why were my parents drunk?
Where did they even go?
Are my parents.. racist?
My dad definitely is. I'm not sure about my mom.
•time skip•
I was running a brush through my hair when I heard my parents chatting.
"When did she even write those letters?"
"I'm not sure, Susan. But she's going to get it when she gets home today."
Oh. My. God.
They saw the paper.
I'm going to 'get it'? Will he hit me? Kick me out?
I kept listening. Charlie must have walked in, because they were talking about groceries now.
I sighed.
I walked into the living room, as if I haven't been eavesdropping their conversation.
"Morning, Mom. Dad. Charlie." I said, grabbing an apple from the bowl on the table.
My dad didn't even look up, and my mom nodded and sighed.
Charlie and I exchanged a confused look.
"Ok, well, I'm heading off. Bye..."
I shut the front door, and glanced at Olly, who was waiting on my driveway for me.
"What's wrong? You're pale." Olly asked, curiously.
"Oh, nothing, I just... I'm cold." I responded, nervously.
Olly raised her eyebrow my way. "Shay, it's April. It's literally 15 degrees out."
I shrugged.
When we got to school, I walked to my locker and leaned my face against the door.
Was my dad going to hurt me?
Was he going to send me away?
Did they... did they find out?
The sound of the first period bell yanked me from my thoughts.
At lunch time, I went to the library. I had brought my lunch from home that day, anyway.
I just pulled out my laptop, the lid decorated with various stickers, and went on the school twitter feed, until a tweet caught my eye.
@westbayhs
Remember parents, your children may be going through depression. Make sure your child is isolated to only white people.
43 retweets
What the actual-
What does race have to do with depression?
The fact that Cass is African American has never affected my like that, and my favourite teacher, Ms. Cruz, is Latina! Like, some of my favourite people are minorities, but that never impacted my psychologically!
I packed up my things and raced to the office.
The office has one of those comment box things, so you write a comment of feedback and slip it in. But, my complaint was too long for that.
The secretary, Mz. Chapman, glanced up at me and smiled.
"Hi, Shayden."
"May I speak to Mr. Dodwell please?"
Her smile faded and she furrowed her brow.
"Ok.. go on in."
I walked into the principals office and shut the door.
"Mr. Dodwell."
_sorry it's short don't shoot me_
