'Every act of rebellion expresses a nostalgia for innocence and an appeal to the essence of being.' -Albert Camus
The second my flashes with mums contact I know something is wrong. I answer the phone, stepping into the nearest classroom for a bit of quiet and privacy. "Eliza! Would be a dear and come home with Timmy? We're going to San Francisco for the weekend as your birthday treat," Mum says.
"San Francisco? This weekend? Mum, I have the talent show tomorrow and I'm going to New York on Saturday morning," I say.
"Oh, well maybe another time, yeah? It's quite important we go this weekend," Mum says.
"I knew it! You weren't treating me to a weekend in San Francisco, you're doing some sort of business over there. Look, I'm not going. You guys will just have to go without me," I say, ready to hang up on her.
"No!" Mum says before I can hit the button. "This weekend has been organized especially for you. There are some very important people you have to meet. They're all dying to meet you. There's no way you're not going."
"I'm going to New York. If it's so important I meet them, they can come to New York. The ball is six until late so I can do Saturday or Sunday. I leave on Saturday morning at six forty five in the morning and come back on Sunday at seven thirty. Work around me," I say.
Mum stays silent for a while and I'm convinced she's going to completely bite my head off, but then she says, "Fine," and hangs up.
I rethink the conversation over and over as I walk to my final class for the day. Hazel grins when she sees me, but her smile falls when she sees my frown. "What happened?" Hazel asks worriedly.
"My mum agreed with me," I say. Hazel laughs. She laughs out loud. Then she stops. "Wait, that can't be good," she says.
"No. I'm hoping she just didn't expect me to say no," I say. Hazel nods and we walk into class together.
About half way through class I decide something. I've spent the whole lesson paying more attention to my own thoughts than the teacher. Finally I decide to let my mum take care of whatever's so important and I won't worry about it. So I'll enjoy my time in New York, show up to mums lunch or whatever and not let it bother me. it didn't take me long to decide on that, but it takes me a while to convince myself that I don't have to worry.
As much as I keep telling myself not to care, I spend ever single moment worrying. It's only when I finally get home and see mum sitting at the dinner table does my worry subside. "Mum," I say.
"Eliza," mum sighs. "I'm sorry but you simply have to come to San Francisco."
"No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry to ruin your plans but I'm going to New York whether you like it or not. I told you I was going weeks ago and you should have taken that opportunity to change the plans."
"The plans were only last minute. It's your birthday, Eliza. There are very important people waiting to meet you," mum argues.
"If these people are so important why did they make such last minute plans? In my experience, important events have to be planned and confirmed weeks in advance. And if it's my birthday, I'll spend it how I want. Tomorrow I'm skipping school to hang out with Hazel and then were meeting up with some people to go to the talent show where I'll perform and on Saturday morning I'll be off to New York. If you guys are going to San Francisco I can find a place to stay for a couple of nights. If you're not I might stay out tomorrow anyway," I say.
"But Eliza," mum starts.
"If you're going to argue, save it. My mind is made up," I say. "Now do I need a place to stay tonight or not?" Mum stares at me expressionless. She silently rises, gathers her laptop and walks to dad's office.
Well, that went well.
I walk into the kitchen and stare at the cupboards. There must be something good to eat. Chips? Not now. Bread? No. Noodles? Too much effort. Biscuits? Nah. I check the fridge. Strawberries? Bingo. I grab the almost full box and pick out a handful. Grabbing a banana I cut the fruits up together, add a scoop of yoghurt and sit down to eat.
After only two mouthfuls dad strides out of his study. He walks towards, raising his hand. From behind him, mum smirks. Dad leans a hand on the table and leaves his other lingering in the air. Oh shit. I wait for him to hit me but his hand stays stationery. "High five me, you sassy bitch," he demands. I high five him awkwardly. "I can't believe you finally stood up to your mum. Good on you E. I'll see what I can do to get the people to New York."
"Excuse me?" Mum shrieks. "She disobeyed my orders. She does not deserve a high five!"
"She was right though," dad says. I can't stop grinning. I've gone all these years without knowing how awesome my father is. Mum fumes, mimicking a boiling kettle. Dad stands taller, protectively, by my side. I just smile at mum and take another mouthful of my food.
Mum stays mad for a long time. Dad informs me it would probably be best to retreat to my bedroom for a while. I don't ask questions. For the rest of the evening I sit in my bedroom and read. Dinner is served and eaten and I stay in my bedroom. Mum didn't cook me any anyway.
Later that night I hear a light tap on my door. I open it to see mum standing there. She doesn't look apologetic or anything of the sort. Her eyes are just as angry as before but she stands tall and composed. Without a word she leads me downstairs and into dad's study. Dad smiles welcoming lay when I walk in. "E," he says, "We made some plans for New York."
"Great," I flash a small but genuine smile.
"On Sunday at one pm we will meet at the Duchess Hotel. I'll wait in the foyer for you. We'll be having lunch in their restaurant then a meeting in our suite upstairs. It shouldn't take too long. It'll be done before five I should hope."
"Fabulous. That all?" I say flatly.
"You'll need these," Dad says, handing me a small check-book sized folder. Inside is money and a folded up piece of paper marking the location of the Duchess Hotel. I raise a questioning eyebrow. "Directions to the hotel. Money for a dress," Mum explains bitterly from the corner.
Tossing the folder onto the table, I stand to leave, "I have a dress and I'll find my way."
Dad lifts a piece of paper from the folder, "There's also a letter for us that we would like to you read after the meeting."
"You can say whatever you have to say when you want to say it. I promise to listen," and with that I exit the room. I feel bad for being so harsh on my dad. He is, after all, the one who moved everything for New York. But something tells me I have the right to be mad at them. Something tells me something bad is coming from that meeting.
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Short chapter.
Hmm so father is cool is he?
Carly at the sidebar.
Thanks for reading.
Bad Noodle xx
