- Spoiler:
- “You’re real stupid, you know that?” Keisha screamed in my face.
I replied with a smirk and a snicker, as if to say Says you. After nearly an hour of this nonsense, I was beyond yelling back. I had settled into my dad's trademark dry humor and sarcasm. Dad was never around during times like this, he was always at work. Can't blame him for supporting his family though, can I?
Keisha, my step-mother stepped close to me, inches away from my body and hissed, “Don’t make me slap you.”
Startled as I was, I leaned even closer to my step-mother and whispered, calmly, “You wouldn’t dare. My mother’d be on your ass so quick…”
Keisha sneered. “Where’s your mother? Where has she been these last few years, huh?”
I struggled to recover. The dose of truth in that statement was painful, if minimal. “Getting herself together so she can take me and Kaitlyn back,” I responded matter of factly.
“Right, right. Wanna know the truth, Joel? She’s not doin’ shit. I’m the one who’s raising you, nobody else. You’re father’s never here, your mom even less!”
I smiled broadly, nastily at her and motioned at the messy house, the dirty kitchen, her snarling visage, and the aura of discontent in a single, all encompassing hand motion. “Well, you’re doing a helluva job.”
Keisha slammed her hand on the doorjamb, trying to make me flinch. I only stared into her face, hoping infuriatingly calm. I prayed she didn't see the rage and hurt in my eyes. “You are only 15 years old. I will not be spoken to like one of your friends off the streets.”
“I’d never speak to my friends the way I do you.” I knew what I was about to do was wrong, but since I wasn't yelling, I needed to vent somehow.
“Really? And why the fuck is that?” She shouted, spittle flying from her lips.
I paused, allowing her to compose herself somewhat, just to get her riled up again. “I respect them.”
Keisha, my height, unfit, and 20 years older than I, was no match for me, in the prime of my adolescence, nor did she demonstrate much common sense, normally. However, she was oblivious to these facts and often threatened me with violence. Every time she did, I knew she would never touch me, because some voice of sense had warned her not to. This time, she ignored it.
Keisha’s hand streaked toward my face. Despite my shock, I just barely caught it by the wrist, than her other hand came in for a punch. Without thinking, I snatched that one out of the air with my other hand, then shoved her backward, out of my room and into the kitchen. I had only meant to put space between me and the animal. She stumbled backward and fell on her rear, looking up at me with impotent hatred. In my defense, I hadn't meant to push that hard, though I wanted to push much harder.
“Don’t you ever lay hands on me again.”
Keisha stood slowly, then stormed away, stepping over the discarded clothes, bootleg movie discs, toys, and other things that decorated the living room floor. “I’m done with this shit! I’m going away, I’m calling your father, I’m gone, I’m leaving!”
She slammed her bedroom door.
*
I sat in the office, aware of the stares on me and not really caring. I knew what they saw me as. I was some reckless, insane teenager, with mood swings and bouts of rage nobody could predict. I was being stereotyped, and that...enraged me.
Only Mom was on my side. She always was. Obviously Keisha wouldn't be. And neither would Dad, his lenses darkened with Keisha's hateful tint. Then, there was Mr. Wynn. He was businessman, first and foremost. If I went to the program, he'd make money, so he wanted me in. He was against me, and money was his motivation. Prick.
I smirked briefly, as I remembered excusing my dad for the same fault. Mr. Wynn wasn't my dad, so he deserved no such lenience. Yet, did my dad deserve it either? After all he had trusted the care of his children to the whirl of insanity he was yet to marry.
Mr. Wynn, who ran this branch of the Youth Life Simulator Program, or YLSP, leaned back in his chair listening to Keisha rant about me. Damn his beady eyes. Whenever they fell on me I shivered a bit.
“The point is, he belongs in this program. His father and I agree, and majority rules.”
“Majority rules?!” Mom yelled. “This isn’t us deciding what to watch on T.V.! This is talking about sending my son to some camp full of angry, mentally unstable kids!”
“Actually,” Mr. Wynn said in his droning monotone, “many parents send their kids here to give them an accurate preview of their future, of what they will deal with later on in life. That’s where most of our subjects come from.”
“Subjects?” I asked indignantly. “What are we to you? Lab rats?”
“If Joel’s father and I decide he should be there-“
“You are not his mother! I am!” Mom quieted a bit. “You have no say in this.” she finished in forced gentility.
“Enough, Mrs. Soto. She is listed as one of his legal guardians. If anything, she has more say in this than you do.” Mr. Wynn said tiredly. He must not have realized what he was discussing. This was my life, and he was disinterested?
“I refuse!" I stood in rage.
“You have no say.” His small mouth answered before his beady eyes locked onto me. “You are under 18, and any legal decisions will be made by your parents. I’m sorry, your legal guardians.”
*
I grabbed my stuff, stuff meaning every scrap of clothing I owned, a couple of keepsakes, and some toiletries, as the ramp to the plane lowered and people began to file in. I looked behind me and saw Keisha, Mom, and Dad all standing there, tears in my parents’ eyes and thinly veiled triumph in the Bitch’s. Is this what she was aiming for? Her daughter, Taylor, stood slightly behind her, an eleven year old troll of a girl, with an attitude to match her looks. She was pretending to feel so bad, though on the inside I knew she was relishing the moment. Jayden, my four year old half brother, was crying into my father’s shoulder as Dad held him. Kaitlyn, my nine year old sister, stood next to Mom, hugging her tightly and gazing after me, worriedly. With a start I realized it was her birthday. My ten year old sister.
Damn, what a birthday.
I was…angry. Livid. Seething. Boiling. In the most terrible of rages. But I showed only stoicism, as was my custom since the events of my life took a tragic turn when I was young.
I dropped my two suitcases and strode over to my mother. As I approached, she let go of Kaitlyn and hugged me tightly. I was a couple of inches taller than her, so her tears were buried in my shoulder as I inhaled the flowery scent she always emitted, a scent I’d not smell for years.
I waved to Kaitlyn, a wave, not a hug. Kaitlyn and I didn’t have that kind of relationship. Our true feelings were known to each other, so we never had to express them. It was more comfortable for the both of us that way.
“Good luck with Her,” I advised Kaitlyn, not quietly.
She wasn’t sure how to respond, aware that Keisha heard what I’d said. I went to Dad and hugged him and Jayden deeply.
“I’m sorry, Joel.”
I shook my head. “It’s not your fault.” Not completely anyway. Do you blame the pieces when the chess player checkmates you?
I turned my volatile gaze on Keisha. “It’s yours.”
I got on the plane with the counselor that was sent for me and slept my troubles away.
Last edited by Crazyangel on Thu Aug 30, 2012 1:49 am; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : Needed spoiler tags)
