your best american girl ✓

18 | your mother wouldn't approve of how my mother raised me

"Halle, get your stinky ass dirty ass ugly ass feet away from my face!" Faye yells, pushing her companion off the sofa. Splatting face-first into the carpeted ground, Halle rolls over, her hair a pool of blue against the eggshell white floor, bringing her hand to her forehead, and groans rather loudly.

Her back arches, knees in the air. "That hurt, and, for the record, my feet are probably a lot cleaner than your face."

Faye shakes her head, pointing the remote to the TV, and crossing her legs on the velvety couch cushion. "None of this would've happened if you would just move your dumbass! I'm trying to watch Dr. Phil."

Halle sits upright, leaning into her palms, and moving her bangs that have covered her left eye. "You wouldn't need to watch him if you'd just pay for the real therapist you so desperately need for those deep-rooted anger issues."

This seems to get Faye's attention. "I'm about to punt you like a football."

"You're only proving my point now, aren't ya?"

Somehow, I manage to tune out the rest of their nonsensical argument, which usually consisted of stupid insults coupled with the occasional use of physical force. Living with these girls for about 2 weeks has really taught me how to ignore their shenanigans. Age difference aside, it is inevitable they'd argue because they're both brats. Really, I couldn't complain because there was never a dull moment. At the end of the day, though, we all get along splendidly, and none of this fighting ever is taken seriously.

Broom in hand, Faye's mom enters the room, watching as her daughter leaps from her spot on the couch and onto Halle. The both of them wrestle on the floor, rolling over the blankets we laid out as mats. Grumbling some Chinese swear words under her breath, Faye's mom grabs her daughter by the collar and starts chasing her with the broom. At nearly 18 years old, Faye was still getting her ass beat by her parents. In a way, it's quite endearing. Although I know Faye is flawed, she's the closest thing to what my mom considers to be perfection, and seeing this helps remind me she's still a human being at the end of the day.

"帮我 [help me]!" she cries, using a pillow to shield herself.

Sitting on the carpet next to me, Tara balances a large plastic bowl of popcorn between her knees. Taking a handful, she chomps down on the kernels. By some stroke of pure luck, she was able to snatch the remote from underneath Faye, and she uses it to change the channel. Skipping past a few cartoons, she flips to the local news station. A breaking news banner flashes on the screen.

One look at the headline and my jaw drops.

"No fucking way," Tara exclaims, likely sharing my disbelief, "Am I tripping? Tell me if I'm tripping."

But she wasn't, because there, on TV, nearly a week after we made the 911 call, Wes D'Medici was being filmed with handcuffs, walking away from some secluded area in a building's alleyway. The cops behind him shove him into the back of the police car.

He was arrested on 2 charges of misconduct.

In astonishment, I put a hand on Tara's knee. "Holy shit, we did it, Villanova! It worked."

"Halle! It's your dad. He's on TV."

The girl in question finds a moment to glance at the screen amidst her rustle, rubs the side of her temple, and giggles. "That's funny."

As if on cue, Kassie and Lulu burst through the door, carrying multiple brown paper bags full of groceries. The two of them are so quick, I couldn't even offer to help them. Unloading various cans into the cabinet, Lulu and Kass put the rest of the vegetables into the fridge.