How To NOT Be Straight✓

5: Daddy Dearest, Don't Worry

"First day of school and I already feel like shit," Blake complained over the phone as soon as I sat down at the table to study. "I really thought the teachers wouldn't start out with that much work."

"It's our last year, what do you expect?" I asked her, taking out my history textbook. "They won't go easy on us this time."

"I understand but it's still annoying, especially with Daniel almost blowing up the lab today."

A small laugh escaped my lips but quickly came to a halt when my mom and dad entered. They stared at me for a while, and my mood instantly changed.

"Blake, I'll call you back," I murmured, hanging up before she even got the chance to say goodbye. "May I help you with anything?" I put my phone down and stared at them.

"How's Alexis settling in?" Mom asked, her voice drenched in curiosity.

"I mean she's settling in well. She found a friend in me, Blake and Terry," I answered, my voice monotone. "Why ask?"

"Well we just got a call from the Samsons telling us that Alexis was electric coming back from school, and couldn't thank you enough," Dad explained. "What did you do to her? Did you help her or something?"

"As a matter of fact I did. I took her in and defended her from those vicious vultures you call students." I shrugged, my hand reaching for my phone. "Now, are we done here?" Mom reached for my phone as well and took it before I could get to it. "Hey!"

She gave me a stern look. "You'll get this back when you're done studying and when you tone down that attitude of yours." I sighed as she continued. "We organized to have dinner with the Samsons on Saturday, so you better be on your best behavior. Isn't that right, love?"

Dad nodded. "I couldn't agree more. I don't want you to embarrass me with your nonchalant attitude, smart mouth and general dark humor. You can do it with your friends, but not with adults. Do you understand?"

I gave him a sugar-coated smile. "Of course daddy dearest, don't you worry about a single thing."

"And please do try to dress better when they get here on Friday, we need to look impressionable as a high ranking family in the church." Mom smiled.

"What's wrong with my outfits?" I asked her.

"They're not...you know...as feminine as I'd like them to be. Plus, they're supposed to be a little more formal if I may add."

"Especially on Sundays," Dad chimed in.

"Here we go again with you guys telling me to dress like a spoilt brat who likes pink. I bet you even want me to speak like this." I rolled my eyes and switched my tone to a high pitched one, "Hi, I'm Cameron! I'm a ray of sunshine that loved to talk shit about my parents behind the scenes and loves to sing gospel songs on my way to school! I also love love LOVE pink! Yay me!" I gagged at what I just said but then continued talking, my voice normal now. "I sound like a snobby rich kid."

"First of all, language. Second of all, no, we just want you to wear a dress or something, it suits you better than jeans," Mom spoke so softly. "It would be nice if you could show some interest in different colors and clothing."

"You make it seem like I don't wear dresses or skirts." I frowned. "Can we just respect the fact that I won't be wearing dresses and skirts all the time? It's not what I like wearing on a daily basis, and I'm not going to change that."

Mom sighed and looked at dad. "Told you it wouldn't work, let's go."

My dad gave me one last look before heading upstairs with mom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

***

As soon as we finished dinner and the dishes were washed, I got back upstairs, phone in hand. I opened the bedroom door and didn't bother closing it, getting to my closet and taking one good look at it.

The clothing was fine. I had a perfect mix of dresses, skirts, sweaters, jeans and leggings. It was also colorful. So why the hell would my dressing be a problem?

I took one particular piece of clothing out. My red dress from last week Sunday. I looked at it for some time before a knock on the open door whisked my attention away.

Mom stood there, a pack of strawberries in hand. She came in and sat on my bed, looking at the closet. I went to go close the door, before joining her on the bed. We were silent for a moment as I fiddled with the hem of the dress, calmly avoiding her gaze.

"I don't know why you guys can't accept my clothing choices," I muttered, eyes still focused on the dress. "They're just clothes."

"It wasn't my idea honey." She placed a hand on my back and moved it up and down. "Dad thought that if I talked to you, maybe you'd listen to his argument."

"Of course it was dad's idea. It's always his idea of moulding me into the perfect pastor's kid that walks around with a bible knowing all the scriptures and putting on a skirt or something," I sighed, rolling my eyes in the process. "I'm not like that, I'm Cameron. I just wish he would stop using his position as pastor to order me into being a fake Christian kid to impress others."

"Sweetheart, it's not like that. We just want to train you in the way you should grow."

"By forcing me to wear dresses and to change my character? That's training?" I looked up. "Mom, I am sick of you and dad trying to get rid of my personality bit by bit and putting a new one in. This isn't build a bitch, you don't get to pick and choose what's on me or not. I just want you to respect the fact that my personality and my outer looks will not change because you asked me to, they'll only change if I want to."

She looked at me, saying nothing. She then gave me a hug, before standing up and leaving my room. As soon as the door closed, I got up and looked at myself in the body mirror. A hot tear cascaded down my cheek, and I held myself for comfort.

"This is who I am, and it's who I'll always be," I whispered. "I wish they could just accept me the way I am."