"Mum, I'm fine!" I protest, nearly dropping my glass of water when another coughing fit shook through my body. 

"Its not normal to throw things up within three seconds of eating them." She retorted, shoving a pair of shoes into my hand. "I'm taking you to the hospital!"

"But Mum! Luke and Ashton are coming over today and we're going to a concert!" I exclaim, not ready to give up this once in a life time opportunity. They're the kind of band that gets deported for the stupid yet hilarious things they do. 

"I told you to stop hanging out with those boys, they're trouble. Besides, you haven't been in good enough shape to go to school, which means you are definitely not well enough to attend a concert. Put on your shoes, we're leaving." She snapped, walking out of the kitchen with her head held high before I could argue any further.

I guess you could say my family is of higher class, meaning my mum seems to think anyone living in a house of the same value of our car--the one specifically used only on the weekends because we have a much nicer one for the rest of the week--isn't worth a second glance. She doesn't act like it when they're around of course, she has a flawless reputation of being sickeningly sweet to everyone in a one mile radius.

She likes to think Luke and Ashton are a bad influence on me, being that Luke has a piercing and they both wear more black than Dracula. She bitches about it whenever I choose to wear black skinny jeans, which might I add, is basically everyday.

The truth is I haven't been to school in two weeks because it sucks. Plain and simple. I would have dropped out by now but my mum wants to boast my completed high school education in the front hall on my wall of 'acheivements'.

Which includes my four primary school track and field participation ribbons all lined up neatly beside each other, every report card that doesn't signify I failed a class, a gold medal and cringe worthy picture of eight year old me with barbecue sauce swathed all over me and my wide smile right after I won the junior rib-eating contest, and lets not forget the shelf of dollar store trophies lining a shelf directly underneath a cheap diploma print out illustrating that I had successfully completed swim school and a trophy for each level I conquered, five in total.

 "I thought you might have died." My mum scoffs upon walking back in to find me analyzing my achievements with something that could be described as dislike.

"Better luck next time." I snark under my breath, following her out to the weekend car.

 "You can't even wear your Sunday pants?" She shakes her head at my black skinny jeans with a sigh.

"Mum, I stopped going to church three years ago. Those pants wouldn't fit even if I still had them."

"You go to a Catholic school." She retorted.

"I 'accidentally' dyed my pants black and I have to wait for the new ones to arrive in the mail." I'd actually had something unfortunate happen to each and every pair of ugly tan pants that the head of school just gave up and I have detention every Wednesday at lunch instead.

( ) ( ) ( ) ( )

"What do you mean you don't know what's wrong with him?!" She'd driven me all the way to the best hospital in Australia after the first two said the same thing. I'd been given a check-up by eleven doctors already, each unable to root out where the problem was coming from.

"I'm going to need you to sit up." A nurse demanded, diverting my attention from my mum shouting in the hall.

The nurse looked like a super kind old lady at first glance but the second you start talking she becomes a weird over-bearing jerk that wants to protect you from the world but at the same time she shoves reality down your throat, for example the doctor was taking some blood for testing.

"Okay now, you can hold my hand. Don't be scared. Goodness, don't look like you enjoy stabbing his in the arm! If there's an earthquake you could easily stab him somewhere fatal....."

Bitch, I did not sign up for this.

"We'll need to keep him longer to take a few tests, he'll be in safe hands." The doctor, Dr. Ficher, sounds like one of those noble superheros that constantly try to add reassurance, safety, and at least three metaphors into every little speech he gives.

"For, if there's a will, there's a way." He ends his five minutes of fame and a small blond nurse peeks her head in, "Doctor, Mr. William passed three minutes ago. The family is waiting for your report."

"Poor Will, he was such a great guy." He seems completely unfazed that the tail end of his speech was smashed to pieces.

"Can you come back tomorrow to collect my will?" I whisper jokingly to my mum as the doctor strides out of the room after the nurse. She smacks my arm.

"I'm going to inform your father, don't expect me back too soon." She concludes her chat with me, heels clicking and head held high.

"Hi, you can call me Maisie. I'm your nurse for the duration of your stay." Her bronze hair was up in pigtails and she wore a wide grin. She looked to be younger than me.

"Michael." I reply.

"I'll go get you some colouring books." She coos, pinching one of my cheeks and skipping out of the door.

This is going to suck.