Hi, my name is Jenna, I'm a 15 year old from Sydney, Australia. And I am moving to America.
My dad tells me its because there are better opportunities for his job, but I know its so he can get away from my mum.
They used to love each other, but she cheated on him when I was 13. My dad was heart broken too. I remember having to take over the house at 14 because he went into a real deep depression. I used to have to wake him up for work, tell him when to bathe, and cook meals. He'd never come out of his study.
But he's getting better now, and I'm proud of him.
"Jenna!" called the sweet, calm voice of my father. "Come down here for a moment please."
"Coming!" I shouted back as I tossed an old photo album that I was looking through back into its box.
I jogged down the stairs, tightening my ponytail on the way.
And as soon as my foot hit that bottom step, I wanted to go back into my room.
"Hi sweetie." Smiled the evil woman that I called Mother.
She was wearing a very short, tight fitting black dress and what my father called "stripper heels" of the same colour.
He long blonde hair draped over her breasts in spiral curls, and a dark red lipstick tracing her plump lips.
"I brought these for you." She extended her arms out, a plate of chocolate chip cookies resting in her hands.
Her fingernails were the same colour as her lips. Long, sharp, and red.
I gaped at her, an annoyed expression on my face.
I gave her a very innocent (fake) smile, took the plate from her hands, walked to the kitchen, flipped the switch to turn on the disposal and one by one, I shoved the cookies down the drain and listen to them shatter and crunch.
I looked right into her blue eyes and smiled sweetly. You could tell that she wanted to be upset, but she didn't have the right to, so she just stood there shaking with anger.
"Now if that's all," I rested my elbows on the counter "I think you should go."
She turned around and looked at my dad, her fists balled up then she stomped out the door, heels clacking.
That was probably one of the things that annoyed me most. She always wore clothes that were way too tight for her, and not once have I seen her wear anything but high heels. Like its the summer, let that shit breathe.
"Jenna," My dad spoke softly and placed his arm around my shoulders.
I looked down at my old black vans. (They were faded into a dark gray but still.)
"Don't you think she deserves it though? For what she did to you, to us." I looked up into his tired eyes.
He forced a smile and held my chin between his thumb and pointer finger. "You're still young."
He started to walk off. "But dad-"
And once again, he disappeared into his study.
I stared at the polished wood door that my father always hid behind when things went wrong.
I looked down as angry tears started to fall down my cheeks.
I ran up stairs, small sobs escaping from my lips.
When I reached my room I slammed the door and crawled into my bare bed, using my arm as a pillow and cried myself to sleep.
I really do hope that America is what it claims to be.
