I'm The Geek Who Slapped A Football Player.

10 - Computer Wars

Chapter 10:

           “Clarisse! Supper time!”

My mother’s voice carries up the stairs, but I ignore her. I’m doing the extra problems that I earned in Trigonometry from stupid idiot SEBASTIAN making me late!! Trigonometry has the lowest grade for me, and these last couple of problems seemed to have been made particularly tricky for my own personal punishment. I aggravatedly continue my work, my hand nearly crushing my calculator in my anger. Stupid idiot son of a bitch can go die in a hole with rats and pudding–

          “Clarisse Cordelia Hornitt!” My mom’s voice is suddenly closer, and I hear her soft but quick footsteps come up the steps. The door opens. She stands in my doorway, hands on her hips, foot tapping, and impatience written on her face.

            The fact that I’m sitting on my bed with books piled around me and my hand poised on the calculator does nothing to soften her expression. “Are you coming to dinner?”

            Yes, just obviously not now because I’m in homework mode, bitch. “Yeah,” I grumble and slam my book closed. She doesn’t comment on this but it annoys her. We march down the stairs.

            No, my mother is not a controlling freak bitch who beats me if my grades aren’t good enough. She probably just had a severely difficult day at the middle school (maniacal tween brats). My mom would much rather be teaching at a high school, but the middle school was desperate for a teacher with experience, and she did it as a favor to a friend. She hates it. She isn’t always angry, she’s just a bitch sometimes.

            Like me. (Ouch, that stung to admit…)

            We enter the dining room and sit down. Dad looks up from his laptop, set at the table. “Must be a lot of homework,” My dad says, smiling at me through his glasses. He’s the reason why my vision sucks. My mom’s vision is perfect; twenty twenty. My father’s and I’s are more like…well, lets just say without my glasses everything and everyone turn into a blobs of color. That move. And talk. And happen to get in my way when I’m trying to walk or stuff.

            “Yeah…stupid S–…Trigonometry.” I almost said ‘stupid Sebastian’, but had stopped myself just in the nick of time. Crap. I really don’t want to have a conversation about Sebastian, or Abel, or especially PugFace with my parents. My mom would more than likely go on a complete tirade and attack the school. Swear a little bit. Get some shouting in there. Maybe throw a desk or two.

            Obviously, I have a good dosage of my mother in me…

            Dad would probably be pissed too, but would go to some more logical, rational reasoning with teachers and maybe the school board. Maybe talk to Sebastian and PugFace and Abel. Think for maybe a day. Then, being a dad, probably file a lawsuit that I’d never live down. I would rather have my mom run into the school yelling and cussing up a storm than my dad sue the school!! I mean, can you imagine? There are always crazy parents, but to be daughter of the guy who sued the school?

            Yeahhhhhhhhh NO.

            Dad makes a face, scooping up a spoonful of corn. “Yuck. Trigonometry was horrible. Most maths are horrible.” My dad is a professor. He teaches Advanced Anatomy. My dad probably would have been a brilliant doctor, if not for his fear of blood.

            We eat in silence for a little bit. Mom and Dad begin to chat about something or other. My mom and I are physically about the same. Average height. Very slim build. Insane, mass of stupid hair brown hair that has the consistency of steel fucking wool!! And, obviously, we both have a wicked temper. How my, calm, relaxed dad ever married my mom is beyond me. The coffee brown eyes are shared by my father and I.