Dirty Little Secret // The All American Rejects

I park the 'Stang and walk up to the door. Home. I'm dreading this conversation. I'd rather go back to the burger place and tell Nico of the bad pick up lines that he's my one true love and run off to elope than step inside this door. Mom has already let me know in no uncertain terms what will be happening, now that it's happened again, and I have no control over it. No say. I'm not 'of age' so my opinion doesn't count.

I stare at the rusted screen door that does nothing to keep the bugs out due to the lovely slash right through the middle, a parting gift from a bitter girl who didn't leave her name when she left her mark. At least that's what I assume. Reluctantly, I grab the handle to open the door. Mom's words stop me before I get the chance.

"I figured this wouldn't be happening until late tonight. I'm actually shocked it's even before dinner."

I can't see her through the screen door, an effect of the bright light outside and no lights on inside. We often keep lights off. It's not an environmental thing to save the planet. It's more like a money thing to save the bank account.

I hold up my empty fast food bag, all fries and grease having been consumed. I wish I could add 'happily' to that description but I won't kid myself. That was desperation eating by definition.

"Already ate." I crumble the bag with one hand and open the screen with the other. It may not keep the flies out but the door is the only reason the inside temperature is tolerable. No air con bill.

"I'm sure you did. We have to talk about this April. It's not good to bottle it all up and eat junk food to ignore what's been going on." Mom gestures to the bag I just dumped in the kitchen trash. She followed me in here with her words of wisdom. Little does she know I've done nothing about ignoring the situation. I'm just avoiding it as long as I can. But by the way she's standing with her arms crossed coupled with her kitchen declaration, I see that my time is up.

"It doesn't bother me as much as you think it does. The things those assholes say won't matter after I graduate." I have to turn away from her on that last one. We both know I'm minutes from bolting. I could care less about graduating. It does bother me, the lies being told. But if I appear unaffected, the words might stop.

Yeah, it didn't work so well with Nico...

"Which is why you won't be attending that school anymore, April. Starting Monday you are making the change to Jefferson. I'm not messing around with this shit anymore."

Well, that's the nail in my high school coffin. Mom dropped a four-letter word, more than rare in this house unless she's decided for something that I'm against. And I am against moving schools. Why would I want to start all over again with a new school full of jerks? I have no delusions that moving schools will change any of this. It's the same freaking town. Most of the kids at Miller High know kids at Jefferson. Some live across the street from each other because the stupid school board didn't separate the rich from the poor to divide the district in half. They wanted diversity so they literally drew a line down the middle of our town. An even split.

But that means the two schools have mingling friends and neighbors. Which also means there is nowhere to escape except out. The calendar on my wall is the light at the end of this tunnel. My birthday is my liberation day, not from a Mom who I know cares about me, truly loves me. But from the things I can't change, the things I have no control over, the people who have made decisions about me without even knowing me. Mom is too far removed from adolescence to remember what it was like. She grew up before the age of posting every damn thing online and believing everything everyone posts. One out of context picture, clip or tweet and life is over. End of discussion.

Just like this one.

"April, don't you want a fresh start?"

More than you can possibly imagine. I keep my words to myself because her solution won't get me there. I can't keep having this argument so I don't bother.

"Fine." I open the refrigerator and grab a coke. It's not the same in the can as in a paper cup from a soda dispenser. Something about that plastic straw and fast food logo makes it taste better. Beggars can't be choosers so I pop the tab and take a long drink.

"Fine," mom parrots my word. "I'll believe it when I see it. I've already spoken to the principal at Jefferson. She will be meeting you Monday morning twenty minutes before the bell to give you your schedule and escort you to class."

"Jeez Mom! That's not conspicuous at all." My sarcasm drips off the words. "I'll be roasted by second period, the new girl the principal distrusts so hard she stepped out of her office and actually showed her face to the masses." I throw one hand in the air, the other gripping the can of Coke so hard it starts to concave causing some of the soda to bubble out and drip over my hand.

"She wants to make sure you have support."

I nod. Adults are sometimes so clueless about high school culture, especially the ones who actually work there. Some people in my position might have goals to change the system, not me. I close my eyes and picture my calendar. The days are counting down, too many still but at least the end is in sight.

"Whatever." I start to walk out of the kitchen when my mom touches my shoulder.

"I know this hasn't been easy on you. I know it's harder than you make it look. But I also want you to know I'm proud of how you've handled yourself. You are pretty much the strongest person I know and there's nothing I wish more than to make all of this go away."

I haven't cried about this in a long time. I haven't felt the pain over the anger since it all started. I've put the armor on, the mask. I've held my head high and walked with dignity despite the lies being whispered as I passed. But hearing that she sees me, she recognizes what it has taken for me to walk through the fire every single day for months, that hurts. It hurts that even though she's in my corner I feel so alone. I let one tear slide down my cheek before shaking away the pain, replacing it with the anger that feels so much better.

I nod. That's the only acknowledgement I give her that her words did mean something to me. My mom has done the best she can on her own in every way imaginable. She got dealt a shitty hand with my sperm donor father, the man who loved her and left her pregnant before falling off the face of the Earth. I'm grateful for her. I don't want to hurt her when I leave, but I know that I will. I just can't be here much longer.

I won't survive.

After the quick nod, I move past my mom and make my way to my room. It's not much of a way to make, just a literal turn into a hall with three doors. Bedroom, bathroom, bedroom, end. Mom has the bigger room but I have the better view. My room looks at the backyard, which is nothing but dirt because our landlord could care less about upkeep of the yard. But it's empty. There are no people back there, no cars passing by. An empty backyard, void of all living things is the best view this girl could have.

Today I don't want to look out the window. Dirt won't make me happy, not when it makes me think of the guy with the grease smear on his face and dirt under his nails. Although now that I think about it, I'm sure it was grease, not dirt. Ketchup smears on his jeans and that barbeque sauce on his face...

But those honey colored eyes made up for the mess. His eyes were honest, open, hungry. I felt something when I looked in those eyes, something in my core. It was like I'd found a missing element, or a matching one. Like is attracted to like and maybe that's why his eyes attracted me. I don't have honey eyes. I'm not a greasy mess. That Nico guy probably uses his greasy appearance as his armor, looking unaffected about every aspect of life. Not me.

I look at the photos I have littered around my mirror. All silly selfies and buddy pics from before, but they show the me who is hidden deep, cocooned under a blanket of hot pink defenses. I am always put together, head to toe nothing out of place, outfits of my own creation on point, hair and makeup flawless. That's my armor. Hot pink, not red, because red has too many connotations that I want no part of.

Passion.

Heartache.

Betrayal.

Blood.

Love.

The girls who use red as their armor tell the entire world that they are bitter, angry, and hiding. But hot pink is neutral. No one looks at hot pink and makes a decision about the person wearing it. It's a color that draws your eye without giving any hints about what's inside. Bold, perhaps, or confident, but nothing else. I chose hot pink as my armor along with being continuously fabulous in every way.

I pity my future therapist because I know that appointment is somewhere down the line.

Before my revere can come to a bitter end, there's a quiet knock on my bedroom door.

"April?" My mom sounds timid, not a good sign.

"What?" I sound leery, which is appropriate at this point. What more could she possibly have to say that she's nervous to say?

The door cracks open. "There's one more thing."

Why am I not surprised? "What." This time I deadpan. Dreading whatever it is now that she's scared to say it.

"Well, I wish this were under different circumstances, but we will be having a guest for the next several months."

"What?" How can one word have so many meanings? This time my tone is filled with incredulity.

"Yes, um, the principal at Jefferson needed to secure a host family for an exchange student, a girl from Japan, starting in a couple of weeks. We sort of did a favor trade. We'll host this girl, and the principal will pull the strings to get you transferred. It saved me a lot of steps with the district."

"What?" And yet another tone: distress.

"We also receive expenses. Money."

Oh. I can't argue with that. Even with both of us working, we don't make enough for more than the basics. It's just not quite enough to get buy, but almost. Pretty much my life story.

"Fine."

"Fine?" She sounds hopeful.

"Come on, do I have a choice?"

Mom just shrugs because of course I don't.

April isn't the rock she acts like, is she? So...thoughts? I've dropped some hints here, as I did for Nico in chapter one. The rumor thing will be a theme between them for most of the book and more details will be woven into each chapter.

More Than This has a 'stereotypes' theme and Not Quite Enough has 'rumors' both of which are high school drama staples. As I am writing this, I am also revising MTT offline (once again) and realizing how much I've grown as a writer!

Nico is up next, and I'm not sure if it will be a Tuesday update or if it will have to wait until next Friday. It all depends on what I get done over the weekend, so wish me luck!

90's vibes for April in this one!

https://youtu.be/gPDcwjJ8pLg