No Time Like Now (Lesbian)

Chapter Thirty-Five

The first day back to school marks the fifth day since Aspen kissed me. Surprisingly, I still wake up at six with a smile on my face and the kiss in Memory Lane. With all the crazy shit Mom's been pulling, she hasn't assigned me back as a morning prisoner with maximum security. Thank fuck. Knowing her, she'd demand what I was smiling about.

The pleasant memory fades as my feet hit the carpet next to my bed, and I face the reality again. The reality of being under my parent's thumb, even after countless attempts to get out from there. Definitely not something worth smiling.

Mom waits for me as I pad downstairs. A couple bracelets I found buried in my room jangle from my left wrist, their sunset colors matching the orange tank top. Loose jeans gives my legs some breathing room while covering the socks with pizza rolls on my right foot, the left foot disguised as a grey-ish snake.

Her eyes bore into the back of my head as I pull out a blueberry bagel from its bag. I cut it in half with the butter knife.

"You need to go back upstairs and change your shirt," she orders. "I don't appreciate you showing off your shoulders like a whore."

Except for a laugh I bite down, I don't answer. I'm not in the mood to deal with petty shit like this. Just focus on the buttering.

"Niamh!" Mom curses. "Find a different shirt to wear. The weather is no excuse for what you're wearing."

Sure, just like how dying of hunger doesn't excuse the fact I want a damn bagel. Still, I don't respond. I need time to myself, and I'm making sure I get it.

Out of my peripheral vision, I sense Mom refilling her mug with fresh coffee. The bagel is scarfed down one half at a time. Crumbs fall on the floor as I transition from the kitchen to the front door.

"That's it."

My backpack yanks me back into the house. Mom has us face to face, her hand wrapped around the handle. "You need to stop with the disrespect," she hisses, inches away from my face. Somehow, I'm not that bothered by her attempt of intimidation. She needs mouthwash, though. "Find your manners, and find a more appropriate shirt to--"

Provoked, I bring my arm down and karate-chop hers, breaking her grip from the backpack. Mom's mouth drops, and I don't need a mirror to know I'm putting on her trademark angry pit bull face.

"No offense, but I don't give a shit what you think," I blurt. It's not what I was going to say, but it's too late.

Her mouth drops another inch as she escalates from startled to shock.

I shake my head. "I don't care what you think about my shirt because it's getting hot outside. And I really don't give a damn about your opinion about the college that, yeah, I'm going to this fall."

"Well, I never!" she gets out, drawing out the words to emphasize her gobsmacked anger. Like me stealing her trademark, Mom was taking Grandma's trademark reaction to 'blasphemy', as Grandma put it. "Missy, you need--"

"Save it for someone who likes you enough to listen," I interrupt, already walking to the car. "Whoever it is, it's not me."

I get my ass moving as fast as I physically can. Once the wheels are moving, I reflect on what just happened. My hands get shaky as they adjust themselves on the steering wheel. My heart pounds hard, as if I ran a mile just now.

As stupid as it was for me to just say what's on my mind, I don't have the energy to hold the peace for whatever relationship we have anymore. Good luck getting her to take over the role of peacekeeper; I haven't left the solo position in the past ten years.

__________

I mark another wrong question on my English final.

"The last question should be C) Horatio." Closing his test answers binder, Shadler peers over us. "Now's the time for objections."

Slowly, students raise their hand and explain how their answer could also be correct even though it's not the one Shadler's looking for. If he thinks the explanation's valid, Shadler would tell the student to circle the question and he'll readjust their final score with half-points. If the explanation doesn't make sense, then nothing happens. It's a nice grade bump, albeit small.

As fair as it is, what isn't fair is Josh's hand always being up and objecting more than a defense attorney in a murder trial where all the evidence points to the defendant as guilty. Shadler slowly becomes dead inside the longer Josh objects and argues and talks over him. 

He's a trooper, though, and answering every objection with an explanation as calm as possible, which is why I'm getting more irritated as Josh goes through the final with a fine tooth comb. By the twelfth question, Josh's objections no longer make sense.

Oh Jesus, now he's getting into the grammar section. Someone get this boy tranquilized so he'll shut the fuck up and we can move on. 

"Here, this sentence says 'She's an utter stranger to me,'" he states, "and the question was what part of speech 'stranger' would be and you said noun when it should have been adjective." Pointing at Shadler, he accuses, "You said it was an adjective just two weeks ago!"

Fuming, the teacher waits a beat. "I also said it depends on what the sentence is. 'Stranger' in this sentence is a noun because it's referring to a person, which is also a noun. If the sentence was 'the events were getting stranger and stranger--"

"That's bull!" Josh interjects. His tough-guy voice was getting louder by the second. "You never said that! You're trying to make me look bad and you suck at it!"

Exchanging looks with my seat neighbor, we reach a mutual agreement that Shadler did tell us that, and Josh was being a moron. My blood simmers as he prattles on.

Like a savior, Shadler cuts him off mid-rant. "We're not spending another minute arguing about this." To the rest of us, he asks, "Does anyone else have questions?"

A mousy girl near the front raises a hand. Josh cuts her off before she can formulate a question to ask the teacher.

"Then what's up with question twenty-seven? You said the answer's a 'noun clause', but 'adverb clause' fits better for that--"

Blood goes from simmering to exploding. Smacking my hands on the desk, I prop myself up and bored my eyes in Josh, who's now staring back wide-eyed.

"You need to quit bitching and move the fuck on!" I bellow, silencing the rest of the once-whispering class. "Accept the fact you failed the final and you suck at cheating! You're not the only dumb ass here, but you're the only one keeping your head up your ass!"

This morning's incident and my dislike for the guy leaves me seething long after I stop talking. No one else dares to speak up. Except for Mr. Shadler.

"I appreciate your help, but I'd prefer if you kept your cool. I think you should go to the counselor."

Like with Josh, Shadler treats me like I'm an adult, whether it's because he doesn't believe we should get the same treatment as toddlers or because no one would be yelling in his face if he was calm about it. 

As I leave the room adjusting the backpack over my shoulders, I hear Shadler tell off to Josh, who had thanked him for 'getting rid of the psycho', "I only did that to keep you from agitating her even further."

Aw, how nice of him. I should make him a little gift basket for Teacher Appreciation Week that's coming up.