I hate Sunday nights. I get the worst feeling on Sunday nights. You know the feeling you get when you dread doing something that you can't get out of no matter how much you want to? It's the same feeling I get every Sunday night since I was ten. Most kids only have to dread going to school, which is bad enough. It's eight hours of being the object of ridicule by privileged, malnourished looking bitches. They don't know how lucky they have it. They walk in the halls with the latest outfit from the mall while I'm in baggy jeans and a t-shirt feeling like a blimp. It wouldn't be so bad if I could disappear into the crowd, but that's impossible when I'm one of the biggest girls in school.
Knowing you are constantly being stared at and judged is the worst. It might make it better if I had an actual girl name. Jack just doesn't fit in with the Lauren's and the Ashley's of the world. And to top all of that off, I have to deal with group therapy every Monday after school. I shouldn't even have to do this. Therapy is for people with real problems. Not me. Doesn't everybody have issues with the way they look? I'm only here because my doctor made me.
This would all be impossible to deal with if it weren't for Parker. He's been my best friend since as far as I can remember. He's the only one who stayed with me after the accident. I don't even really understand why we're friends. He gets talked about all the time for being good looking, and I get talked about for looking like a walrus. The only thing we have in common is our love for movies. We used to hang out all the time, but now he's always busy with his girlfriend Amanda. So I spend most of my time alone watching Casablanca for the thousandth time dreaming about Humphrey Bogart. If only I could find my own Humphrey one day, but I'm far from Ingrid Bergman.
It should be illegal to wake up at 7:00 A.M., but the smell of bacon coming from the kitchen makes it a little more bearable. I walk into the kitchen to find my dad cooking breakfast. He's not home much because of his job, but when he is, he tries to fill both parental roles. I take my usual seat at the table and dad sits the food in front of me.
"I made your favorite! Chocolate chip pancakes and bacon," he says cheerfully and kisses me on the temple.
Like he always does. Every single Monday. It's the best part of the day, though.
I'm not even two bites in when my bitch Aunt Candace waddles into the kitchen. She's been haunting us with her presence since her divorce. Which was five years ago.
She sits down across from me. "Are you sure you want to eat that?" she says, disgust dripping from her voice.
She's one to talk. She's at least twice my size and has to go through our door sideways. I gave her my best bitch face and shoved the biggest bite of pancakes I could muster into my mouth.
She scoffs and thankfully ignores me for the rest of the morning.
"Well ladies, I've got to get going. You won't be seeing much of this week. Cross your fingers that I get that promotion," dad says.
I get up to give him a hug goodbye. "Goodbye Jack. Be good for Aunt Candace."
As soon as Dad left, I put my normal outfit of jeans and a t-shirt on and headed next door to Parker's. His parents used to always drive us to school until Parker got his own car. I've been waiting for him to ditch me, but it's been about a year and he still takes me every morning.
I take the steps to his door two at a time, excited to be away from Aunt Candace. I open the door and walk right in, I never knock at his house. His parents have already left for work and Parker's sitting at his table eating cereal. I sit across from him.
"Hey." he says with a mouth full of Golden Grahams.
"What up?" I responded.
"Not a lot. Let me put this up and we can go. Oh, and we have to run by and pick up Amanda."
YOU ARE READING
Jack
Teen FictionJack is your average 17 year old girl trying to navigate her way through life.