The Safety Pin Affair

t w o - you know i can't make decisions

not psychotic or dramatic,
i like boys and that is t h a t . . .

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Teachers always told us that senior year would be "so difficult", but it often contradicted with what the upperclassmen would say. Since junior high, they prepared us by shoving information down our throats that they swore would help us in time. Things like "they won't wait for you to finish taking your notes in high school" or "if you don't have your homework, too bad". But I think they tell us these things to scare us, honestly.

If I'm being realistic, even though senior year just started almost two weeks ago, it's been a breeze. The only real important homework I have is to read the next chapter of some 19th century romance-drama novel. I can probably read the chapter within a day, and it's due by Friday. It's Monday now.

So speaking of Monday, it was over quickly since technically my very last class of the day is a study hall and I'm not required to go to it. It's like that for mostly every senior though, so we get to leave earlier than everyone else.

I walked out of school with Blair and Matt, waving goodbye as we parted ways for our own cars. I clicked the unlock button on my keys for my red Beetle, and smiled when I heard it beep back at me. I hopped in the drivers seat and tossed my bag into the passengers seat. The radio came on at full-blast when I turned the engine on, making me jump, but then I started singing along to whatever song was playing.

It's just a small, two-door convertible Beetle that's bright red and a couple years old, but I love her with all my heart. And yes, it's a girl.

I finally made it home about ten minutes later due to the usual school traffic, so I pulled into my driveway and shut my car off. When I got out and reached the front door, it was already unlocked, so I pushed it open and went inside.

Like I said, my parents are a bit strange. They aren't psychopaths or anything like that – they're just different.

To paint a picture for you, the inside of our house sort of resembles a cheeky log cabin. There's a brick fireplace in the living room, everything is made of wood, and the back deck hangs over a hill, giving us a pretty nice view of trees, trees, and more trees.

And even though this might be the apparent theme of our house, my parents like to put their own spin on things. Like my mom's touch on both the bathroom's.

They're both ocean themed, and when I say that, I mean literally everything in the bathroom is part of this theme. The shower curtains are an underwater sea creature print. Our soap usually smells like a "fresh ocean breeze" and if it's not in a bottle, it's shaped like seashells. There's decals on the walls ranging from starfish, to dolphins, anchors and so on. Even the toilet has fish on it.

Oh, and it doesn't end there. To spare you time, I'll just sum up my parents weird behavior. Every Sunday, we spend all day cooking whatever my mom wishes because the three of us are home. Then after this family dinner, we reflect on the week we've had and "share our feelings". That one was my dad's brilliant idea.

We have breakfast for dinner every single Wednesday. On Thursday we have "family movie night". When you walk in my front door, to the left you'll see a relatively large, colorful painting of The Beatles with song lyrics of theirs floating around their heads.

I think you get the point now.

"Vicky! How was school, my love?" I heard my mother's voice call from the kitchen, using the nickname she gave me when I was a little girl – "my love".

"It was alright," I called back, knitting my eyebrows together. I walked to the back of the house, where I saw her standing at the island in the kitchen on her laptop. She's typing exceptionally fast and her glasses are on as she's squinting at the screen. "What are you doing?"