10

"Hi, mom." I greet.

"Hi, sweetie," she says with absolutely no love.

I place my bag on the floor and take off my jacket. I'm about to take off my shoes, but my mom doesn't let me. "No. You didn't take the garbage out this morning. Go now."

"Yes, mom." I pick up the garbage bag and head out again.

A quick comment on my mother: she's awful. She's self-centered, rude, bossy and all in all… a bitch. She's my mom, so I have to love her, but… she's horrible.

She's always looking down at me, commanding me to do chores all day, but gets furious when I do them wrong. She always expected me to be different – to be like her. She once was one of the popular girls that went along with everyone, and she expected me to be the same.

Unfortunately, I far from what she wanted me to be. I had to raise myself, and I started to read because she wouldn't teach me the basics. Instead, I found out a whole new universe, but my mother didn't agree.

Anyway, I throw away the garbage and walk back in. I take my shoes off, but before I can go upstairs to take a shower, my mother orders me to wash the dishes. Excuse me, dear reader, but I arrived barely five minutes ago. The dishes are from lunch. I ate lunch at school. So, tell me, how is cleaning the dishes my responsibility?

But, to avoid a beating, I obey and clean the whole kitchen.

When I'm done, I ask her if I can go to my bedroom.

"I don't know," she answers without looking up from her phone. "Do you think you can go upstairs? Look around, see if there's something of yours. If not, then go."

I look around just to make her happy, even though I know I didn't leave anything.

"Okay, I'll be upstairs." I say after I'm sure. But she slams her phone on the counter and start yelling. "No! You won't be upstairs! This place is a mess! A shitty mess! Don't you realize that this is your house too? Don't you realize that you could be HELPING?!"

I'm quite used to her moments of crisis, but I still look around once more, and my eyes land on my shoes. Shit.

I'd forgotten to place them in the cupboard. I had left them on the floor, but that's clearly unacceptable. I'm sorry mom, what was I thinking of leaving my shoes under the furniture and not inside it. Silly me.

By this time, I'm pissed too. She always does this. She gets mad, freaks out on me, then ignores me completely. And why should I be the one cleaning? Sure, I could help a bit more, but my dad literally does nothing and still gets away with it. Me? Not so much.

I put away my shoes and then stomp my way to my room. I'm trying to contain my anger, but it's really hard. I close my hands tightly as my nails sink into my skin. I hold them there for a few seconds, holding in the rage. When I release my hands, there are visible marks on my palms. There's no blood, but it's really red. I trust the marks will vanish soon, but just in case I put on some Aloe Vera. That should help with the redness.

I make myself fall on the bed and sigh deeply. God, my life sucks.

Friday is boring. I have two periods of Social Studies, two periods of P.E and in the afternoon two periods of English that, unfortunately, are with Tom. I know. Ugh. I guess two hours with him aren't that bad. Usually, on Monday I have three periods with him. Sure, there's the two-hour lunch break in the middle, but still.

I honestly don't know how I feel about him yet. From what I've seen in the last few days, he can actually be quite sweet when he wants to. He acts really nicely around me lately, and I like it a lot. I certainly prefer him being nice than him calling me ugly. That side of him is most enjoyable. Also, he's incredibly hot.

Oh, wait. I haven't described him yet. Oops.

Well, if you really are interested, he has green eyes; so beautiful you could stare into them for hours. His messy jet-black hair looks incredibly soft, and I usually have to restrain myself from stroking it. His skin is smooth, as are his soft lips. He has a little scar on his bottom lip, but it's only noticeable when he smiles. Even though it doesn't happen often, I find that little scar incredibly attractive.

He's about five feet and a half, average, and his body is very muscular. As I may have mentioned before, I find it really distracting when he wears a skinny shirt: it's so tight that I can almost see his abs.

Even though he's drop-dead gorgeous, there's always this little voice in the back of my head, whispering. He's too hot for you. Why would he want to be with you? You're not a supermodel! Your body is average! Give up. You know this will never happen.

And the scariest thing is that I believe that voice. I'm not a supermodel: far from it. I guess my biggest problems are my thighs and my belly. They're not bad, but they're slightly bigger than my ideal body. I go to the gym several times a week, but it doesn't seem to get better.

But enough talking about Tom or me. Let's get back to the story.

My first two periods, Social Studies, go by swiftly. P.E is fun: we play dodge ball and I accidentally hit one of my classmates, who I hate, in the face (cough, it isn't an accident, cough). After two free lunch periods, I have English. Even before entering the room, I feel anxious. Will we speak about nerd and geeks again? Please, no. It was embarrassing enough yesterday.

Fortunately, we don't. Unfortunately, Karen has to go to the dentist, so there is a free seat next to me. I'm pulling my stuff out of my bag when I sense someone sitting in Karen's sear next to me. I look over and see Tom calmly taking out his pencil case from his backpack. I stare at him expecting a comment from him. Surprisingly, he keeps his mouth shut. Just to break the silence, I greet him.

"Hi."

I see him smile with the corner of my eye. He doesn't look at me, but whispers, "Hi."

"Please don't mention nerds this time." I joke.

He chuckles. "Yeah. Okay."

I turn back to take out my stuff. When I'm done, I wait silently for the lesson to begin. I glimpse at Tom's side of the table, and I see he's pulled out a block of paper for taking notes. Hm. I didn't know he took notes.

We sit there in comfortable silence until the professor starts talking. For once, I'm actually disappointed that a lesson is starting. I'm weirdly appreciating this moment with Tom. Then I push the thought away.

No! I scold myself. He's working his magic on you! Be reluctant! Be reluctant! BE RELUCTANT!

I shake my head in confusion and start listening. Predictably, the teacher hasn't yet been able to give a look at our papers from yesterday, but she says that she should be able to give them back to us by the end of the lesson. As always, she gives us some exercises to do, so while we work on those, she works on our essays. I immediately get to work, and I'm surprised to see Tom doing the same.

Why do I keep having these prejudices towards Tom? When have I ever proved that Tom is dumb? Never, that's when. I have to stop thinking he's stupid. He may actually be very smart.

But that's the problem. If he's hot and smart, there's no reason for me to be reluctant anymore.

Stop it! my brain chides me. He's no nerd, so he's not your type. Besides, he doesn't look like a smart guy. Maybe, but he's definitely not a nerd.

Then my mind proceeded to picture Tom with round glasses, reading a book calmly. The thought is so silly I couldn't resist laughing.

"What's so funny?" Tom asks me quietly.

"Oh," I say. "Nothing. Sorry."

Tom luckily doesn't push me to answer. Instead, he keeps doing the exercise. Shit, the exercise. I have to get moving.