Don't Forget About Me

1

  I've never thought about who my father was. I mean, sure, I wondered, but whenever I asked my mom said it didn't matter. It matters to me, I'd think.

After a while I just stopped asking. I feel bad for my mom. We don't have all the money in the world, so she has to work three jobs just to pay for room and board.

I know she tries, and I know she feels bad. I know it shouldn't bother me that I don't know who my father is, after all I have never met him, but it still does.

 I am in my fourth period English class when I hear the P.A. call me down, saying I am being picked up. I walk to the main office feeling rather confused.

Mom should be working. Why is she picking me up early? There is something wrong. I dash the rest of the way, suspense feeling like butterflies in my stomach.

When I arrive at the office, I see not my mom but my aunt. In tears, she pulls me in for a hug.

"What's wrong," I ask. "Is it mom? Is she- Is she hurt?"

My aunt just stands there and nods.