Being a Teen Mom {Interracial High School Romance}

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Cara

The buzz of the alarm clock awakes beside me as I read the time of the day, which is 7:20 in the morning! Shit! The registration starts at eight! I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth, wash my face, and comb my hair. After departing the bathroom, I walk to my closet to pull out a blue printed paisley blouse and a pair of cloud wash jeans on my bed as I begin to get dressed for the day. I snatch a pair of stud earrings off the nightstand and insert them through the holes of my ear lobes. I put my phone and glide my Baby Lips lip balm from Maybelline before putting it in my purse when the knock on my door catches my attention, revealing my mom in her sundress. “Are you ready, Cara Care?” Mom queries, smiling at me.

“Yes, I’m ready to go.” I tell, holding the handle of my purse in my hand and walking down the stairs to the exit of the house. My mom and I enter the van and she begins to drive. “Cara, are you excited about the meeting?” Mom queries to me.

“Actually, mom, I’m a little nervous about the meeting.” I confess. Mom pats me on the knee and responds, “Baby, you’ll do fine. This meeting will be short and simple and they will hand you a folder of the school policy. All you gotta do is believe in yourself just as we do. Okay, Cara Care?” 

“Okay, Mom.” I agree, smiling at my mom. Mom pulls the car up at the parking lot of the Las Vegas High School. This building is big! It is a white building, which has an Aztec art deco below ‘Las Vegas High School’ and a sign with the school’s name that is engraved. My Mom and I get out the van and into the school to see an empty clean hallway. “This is such a beautiful school, huh, Cara?” Mom gasps in awe. “I wonder where the Main Office is?” Mom wonders. “Mom, I see it; We just walked past it.” I giggle.

“Oh, there it is!” Mom laughs as she opens the door for herself and I, entering the office to see various people in suits, blouses, and pencil skirts on telephones and handling schedules. My Mom and I sit down on the wooden chairs until a man in a suit, neat jet black hair, black square rim glasses, skin of cappuccino, and is in his mid thirties walks towards us. “Good morning, Ma’am. Are you Rene and Cara Kennedy?”  “Yes.” Both Mom and I answer in unison. “My name is Dennis Washington and I am the guidance counselor and this is Principal Brockett. Will you and your mother please come to Principal Brockett’s office please?” Mr. Washington introduces as the four of us and we walk into Principal Brockett’s office that is so clean, fresh breeze scent of Febreeze swirling around into mist, a wooden desk with neat assembles of paperwork and a lamp beside far from her notebook, and accolades hanging on the walls. We take a seat as Principal Brockett sits down on the chair.

“Mrs. Kennedy, I’d like to say that in our school, we love to show appreciation and support to our fellow students, even newcomers as well. But this year, we’d love to have your daughter in our school at the Las Vegas High School since I saw her makeup tutorials on YouTube.” Principal Brockett starts. 

“Cara absolutely loves doing makeup tutorials with her best friends when our family were living in Tucson, Arizona.” Mom agrees. “Mrs. Kennedy, ever since you, Cara, and the family were living in Tucson, Arizona, I’ve seen Cara’s permanent record and I am impressed! Since Cara has passed all of her classes in Ironwood Ridge High School, including AP Calculus and AP Physics, it is best decided to have Cara choose whatever classes she wants for this school year. Here is the school catalog.” Mr. Washington informs, handing me the booklet, so my family can have a look on this later. “Cara, in order to be registered to the Las Vegas High School, you need to know the national Las Vegas High School Fight Song. Do you know the song?” Principal Brockett asks. Have I know the song? Of course, I do! “Yes, Principal Brockett. I’ve been studying the lyrics for hours when my family and I were travelling from Arizona to Las Vegas, Nevada last night. Do I have to cheer?” I question, standing up from the chair. “Of course, dear. It doesn’t matter what kind of music genre the cheer is for you, be inspirational.” Principal Brockett states. “And sweetie, remember; Just be yourself.” My Mom helps me recall minutes ago. “Okay.” I giggle. I breathe in the positivity and exhale the negativity of the high school drama there will be. I squeeze my eyes and open them to picture silver metallic pews further from the field, track paths of pebbling rocks, and the green, green grass is where I’m standing in the hours of pre-sunrise. I begin cheering,