"Beth, I got an email from Mrs. Schoon you got another detention today." Mrs. Forrest drummed her fingers on the kitchen counter, eyeing her 16 year old. Bethany peeked up from her math problems to gauge her mother's expression. She looked disappointed, which made Bethany feel terrible.
"I... I accidentally fell asleep during class and caused some sort of commotion. I don't really know mom."
"Why did you fall asleep?" her mother turned around to check the casserole and Bethany made a face at her turned back.
"I don't know, I was up early." The excuse sounded pathetic even to her.
"I was up as early as you and I didn't fall asleep during class," Mrs. Forrest chuckled (she taught AP English).
"You aren't an adolescent." Bethany grouched, flicking her pencil between her fingers and squinting down at her problems. "When's dad home?"
"He will be home around 8, and nice try at changing the subject." She turned back around to face Bethany. "This can't keep happening Beth. I know it doesn't get any easier, but your friend died a year ago. You have to get over this. We stopped going to Dr. Sally because you said you had gotten over it."
"Mom, I don't need a therapist! And try having one of your friends die! I'm doing my best," Bethany looked down at the counter, her throat stinging after the words.
"I know honey," her mom sat down on the stool next to her. "I don't need anything more than that, but junior year is when things really matter. You have to be in it to win it, this year decides your life basically." Her daughter shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "It's only October, but you have to get after it Bethany."
"You are the one interrupting my math homework,"
"Be polite, I'm trying to help you. We wouldn't have to have this conversation if you hadn't gotten detention. You are better than that." And with that Mrs. Forrest left the kitchen. Bethany wanted to scream, or cry, or both. She laid her head down on top of her homework, clutching her pencil tightly in her right hand. Come on Bethany, get up. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. She forced her body upwards and looked back at the homework.
---
Family dinner was mandatory in the Forrest household. As an only child, dinner had become increasingly awkward the older Bethany got. When she entered highschool with her mother as a teacher, she could hide nothing from her. Every moment that Bethany was involved in somehow found its way back to her mother.
Mr. Forrest was an architect who took his job very seriously. He valued logic as well as black and white and was never one for elaboration. He gave practical affection and had always been a solid force in Bethany's life. He was not particularly talkative however, and sat eating his casserole. Bethany waited for someone to say something, shoveling food into her mouth.
"How was work?" Mrs. Forrest asked, sipping her water.
"Same as usual, nothing out of the ordinary happened." Bethany could sense the usual frustration on her moms face. Over twenty years of marriage and Amanda Forrest still could not get over her husband's unwillingness to elaborate at family dinner.
"Bethany, how was your day?" Any ordinary person wouldn't have caught the slight edge in Mrs. Forrest's voice however Bethany heard it loud and clear.
"Rory invited me to a football game on Friday." The mood at the dinner table changed considerably after this statement. Bethany hadn't had a friend obligation in months, she spent far too much time (in her parents view) at home doing seemingly nothing. Her parents exchanged an excited glance that was not entirely out of her sight. Bethany sighed, she expected the reaction. "It's not a big deal, chill out."
"Of course not honey," Mrs. Forrest attempted nonchalance.
"May I be excused?" Bethany asked, brandishing her empty plate. She was ready to be done with the conversation.
"You may," Mr. Forrest stated, turning his gaze back to his food. Bethany didn't need to be told twice. Darting out of the kitchen and taking the stairs two at a time she made her way to her room.
The room was a small square with a bed taking up the majority and a desk across from the bed with a mirror propped up next to it. Bethany took a look at herself, her gangly figure and dark brown eyes. Her hand traveled over her freckles dotting her nose and cheeks up to her jagged dark hair. Her other hand wound a hairband around that hair, pulling it out of her face so she could see herself.
The face that stared back had sharp cheekbones, medium skin tone and freckles. The lips were pinkish, the eyelashes were short but thick. The nose was slight, and the eyes were a rich dark chocolate color. And the only thing she recognized in those eyes was fear.
