So Called Random Words (Michael Clifford)

0.3 'my "roof getaway'

I admit, I felt guilty for snapping at Ashton like that, but it's the only way to get him off my back.

I dropped my backpack in my room and hurried downstairs, I couldn't be late for dinner. I want to eat at the dining table, hurry through the conversation and go back up to my room.

"Hello Erin. Nice of you to join us."
My father said with a raised eyebrow. I hid my slight cringe at his tone.

"Sorry dad, just work took a bit longer than usual."

My mom frowned, "Well why don't you just quit the job? You don't need the money, we can always give you a bit of money here and there."

"She's right. The job is also filled with filthy music you shouldn't be accustomed to."

I panicked internally, "Well, I keep the job so I can get an understanding of what working is like and to become more responsible on not to be late, and become more independent dealing with money wisely."

"And doesn't the horrible music bother you?"

"Well, of course it does, but I try to avoid listening to it as much as possible. And I know I can just get another job, but i have to learn that life won't always be perfect, but I have to deal with it."

My parents looked completely sold.

"So dad," I twirled my hair a bit trying to look as innocent and confused at possible, "whose Michael Clifford? I heard the intercom call his name at school."

As soon as I said Michael Clifford, his face was set into a deep scowl and rage swirling in his eyes as he spat, "That punk is someone who has no better things to do then to vandalize my school apparently. I don't want you talking to him-ever."

I nodded, "Of course daddy. But what do those words he writes on the lockers mean?"

This made him even more angry, "I don't know-no one does. He is just insane. That's why."

The next 45 minutes were filled with pointless small talk until I was finally allowed to excuse myself to my room.

I told my parents goodnight, and kissed both of their cheeks and ran to my room.

I tore open my window, and grabbed my phone and earphones.

I grabbed the end of my roof, which is hanging a couple of inches above the start of my window, and swung my feet on to the window ledge. I turned to lean my back on the side.

I put on Shuffle at my iPhone's secret playlist, starting with Anthem Part 2, by Blink 182, and put in my earphones.

I recapped from my dinner conversation.

My dad hates punk rock music.

But that's not the only thing.

My dad is my school's principle.