You're Not Enough

Chapter 94

*Can we reschedule? Something came up. -Jessica.

*Sure, let me know when you're free

I walk towards the main doors and out of the school towards my car. I really didn't want to go home right now, but I guess I will have to. I throw my book bag on the seat beside me, turn the car on, and then pull off.

As I drive down the road, I can't stop thinking about what Thomas said. I can't believe people look up to me. Well, some people, the ones who aren't narcissistic assholes, of course. People really shouldn't look up to me, though. I'm not a role model. If they knew the truth about me. They surely wouldn't.

If they knew I suffered from mental illness and knew I cut. They wouldn't look at me the same. If they knew I had a substance abuse problem and that technically I'm an arsonist, they wouldn't think I was this great person. I know they wouldn't. I don't even deem myself as a good person, so why should they?

I turn the car onto my street and then pull up right in front of my house. My dad's car is in the driveway. He's home early. I grab my book bag off the passenger seat and then get out of the car. I walk to the door, unlock it, and then walk in.

"Jayda!" my dad calls. "Is that you?"

"Yeah!" I toss my keys into the bowl and walk further into the house. He's in the dining room. There are balloons tied to the chair and a cake on the table. It isn't my birthday. Is it? No, my birthday is in July.

"I thought you weren't going to be home until later. Didn't you have something to do?" he says

"Yeah, but we rescheduled. Um, so what's going on?" I ask him. He has a huge smile on his face. It's creeping me out. I've never seen him this excited before. I look at the cake on the table; it has numbers on it 1515.

He grabs a paper off of the table. Then hands it to me "1515!" he says eagerly.

I take the paper out of his hand. It's my SAT results. I scored a 1515.

1515! I can't believe it. Never in a million years did I think I would score this high.

"I have something for you?" he says. He walks past me and turns the corner. After about a second or two, he comes back with a blue and yellow bag. He hands the bag to me.

I take it out of his hand and then look inside. I place the bag on the table and pull out the object inside. It's a sweatshirt. I open it up, and it says UCLA, and it has the school logo in the middle. I don't know how to feel, well, I do. I'm mad; I don't want to go here. I don't want to go anywhere. Why can't he get that? I told him repeatedly that I didn't want to go to UCLA, yet he keeps pushing it. "Thank you, really. But I can't accept this." I fold the sweatshirt back down and stick it into the bag.

He looks shocked. I don't know why. He already knows that I don't want to go there. "What? Why not?"

"Because I don't want to go there. You know that!" I say bitterly.

"I do, but enrollment is a month away. You have to enroll somewhere. So why not here? Do you not want to go here because of what happened at NYU?" he asks.

"How do you know what happened at NYU?" I never went into detail on what happened at NYU. I just told them I didn't do well in the interview.

"I don't know what happened, but it doesn't take rocket science to know that you didn't do good on the interview," he says. "And the reason you didn't do good was because you kept us out the loop. You didn't tell us anything." he seems upset.

"Of course, I didn't tell you guys. I knew you two would disapprove!" I yell.

"We wouldn't have disapproved." He says, his eyebrows scrunch together.