I, The Minion #NaNoWriMo

Library Trip

"I'm home, dad. What did you want to talk about?" I asked as soon as I entered his office. He still has not look up from his laptop screen. I take a seat on the small sofa, waiting for him to talk.

He always seems to wear collared white shirt and black trousers. Every time I see him, his hair is always properly combed, and his facial hair were always shaved off. His eyes were green. Colton got his eye color while I got my mom's. From the back, you might think he is George Clooney, but from the front, you might see him more like Jim Carrey. And of course, there were already white hair growing up his roots because he is old.

I think he is in his 50's while my mom just turned 47 last July. Yeah, their age gap was big, but it really does not matter. When you grow up, age is just a number.

Tapping my fingers on the wooden arm rest, I examine the bags under my dad's eyes. I think there were two layers of it. He wears his reading glasses whenever he does some business stuff on his computer, which make him look older than he already is.

It was always like this with him. He tells me to come home at a certain time to talk. I come home, and he ignores my presence until he was ready to talk to me. I must wait for about 15 minutes. If I left, he would call it 'rude' for just leaving like that.

I made myself comfortable as I pulled out my notebook from my shoulder bag. I wrote all these notes, yet I cannot understand a thing. The only thing readable was the date.

'First period, turn in our first homework on Wednesday.'

I did not get to write it down, but I remember that it was a short analysis on a drama play we must read.

And then, there is another one for my second period due tomorrow, which was identifying the literary terms. It seems easy, so I thought I can just procrastinate and do it tomorrow morning.

Today was Monday, the first day of senior year, and so I am not in the mood to do anything. I just wanted to knock off as soon as I can.

15 minutes later. . .

"Have you started on your application?" my dad finally came to ask. I was startled by his voice as I slowly looked up from my notebook. Was he serious right now?

It was only the first day of school. I cannot be thinking about that already. Senior year is supposed to be the year where it is fine for me to slack off—right?

But I guess in my case, it's the year to pull up all my grades. I really did my best on my junior year. However, because of my poor grades for 10th grade, I only got it up to an average B- and my dad will not allow that. He expects me to get straight A's. That is impossible. I would need to repeat 12th grade in order to bring it up to his expectations.

"Dartmouth's admission just opened up," he added. I open my mouth but there were no words that came out.

"See dad, I don't want to go to Dartmouth, or Yale, or Stanford," I was finally able to say to him. As soon as those words left my mouth, I watch my dad's facade change into disappointment once again, the look I grew accustomed to.

"I thought we already talked about this?" he questioned, "I thought you liked Dartmouth?"

I did like Dartmouth. I was in love with Dartmouth once my dad suggested it to me. I fell hard when he took me for a tour on their campus over the summer. I liked the dorms, the meal plan, the lecture rooms, and everything.

Except, as soon as I got on the admission's website, my face faltered into bleakness. An essay was no problem to me, even if it was 100 pages. However, the admissions required an SAT score higher than the score I got when I took it the spring of my junior year. Dartmouth did not accept my kind of grade point average. I calculated it and I realized that one senior year will not be enough for me to pull up my grades into the grades Dartmouth requires.