—————༻☂︎︎༺—————

I stood just outside the principal's office, leaning against the cold, smooth wall, listening to the muffled conversation inside. The words were indistinguishable, but I could tell they were tense, the silence between them as heavy as the weight pressing on my chest. I rolled my eyes and let out a long, frustrated sigh before slipping my phone out of my pocket.

I tapped out a quick text to Paisley, my best friend, and waited for her reply.

Paisley 🖤:
How's the meeting in the office?

I stared at the screen for a moment, fingers hovering over the keys as I debated how to answer. Then, without hesitation, I typed:

Me:
Fucking got suspended for the rest of the month.

The little bubbles appeared instantly, signaling that Paisley was already typing back. I could almost hear her sharp, sarcastic laugh in my head as she replied.

Paisley 🖤:
A month? Why a month? Have they even talked to Meredith about how this all started?

I scoffed, tapping out my response as I shook my head.

Me:
No. She refuses to. Bitch is now too scared to open her mouth again.

The next message came through a moment later, a string of laughter and disbelief that made me smirk, despite everything.

Paisley 🖤:
That and you almost broke her jaw.

A chuckle slipped past my lips before I could stop it. The memory of Meredith's shocked expression, the way she'd fallen back against the lockers, it all felt like a lifetime ago. I wasn't sorry, not in the slightest.

I didn't hear the office door open, but I felt the shift in the air as my mom stepped out, a stack of papers clutched tightly in one hand. My principal followed her, his face etched with a look that was somewhere between sympathy and defeat. He met my eyes for a brief second, but said nothing, turning back to my mom.

My mom shook Mr. Hayes' hand, her fingers gripping his with a polite but strained intensity. "Thank you so much, Mr. Hayes. I appreciate everything you've done for Becky and me," she said, her voice steady but thin.

"Of course. It's my job," he replied, eyes flicking to me for a moment before shifting back to her. The silence that followed was heavy, pressing down on us, on everything.

Mom turned to me, her gaze sharp, and I met her eyes for a split second. There was a question there, a demand for an explanation, but I couldn't find the energy to give her one.

"Come on. Let's go," she said, her voice softening, almost a plea. She nodded toward the door, and I pushed myself up, grabbed my bag off the floor, and followed her out. The hallway was quiet, save for the faint murmur of voices coming from inside Mr. Hayes' office.

We stepped outside, and the cool, rain-soaked air was a welcome change. The drizzle, small and sharp, stung against my skin and seemed to make the world clearer. We walked to her car, and I slid into the passenger seat, the silence between us growing, heavy and suffocating. The rain tapped against the windows, matching the pounding in my head.

"Why, Becky? Why today of all days did I have to get a call from the school?" Mom's voice broke the silence, tight and strained.

I shrugged, my mind numb, unable to form a coherent response.

"I'm serious. Why did you have to slam that girl into a locker? Why couldn't you just push her, grab her backpack, do something that wouldn't have made this a goddamn scene?" Her voice cracked, almost pleading.

I looked at her, my expression a mix of exhaustion and defiance. "Because no one does that anymore."

"So you think slamming a girl into a locker is the right answer?" Her voice raised a notch, sharp with frustration.

"If you cared more about her than me, you would've taken her home," I muttered, the bitterness already seeping out. My hand found the vape pen in my pocket, and I brought it to my lips, inhaling deeply.

"Don't. You know how I feel about that thing," she said, snatching it out of my hand with sudden force. The movement made me flinch, my body instinctively pulling back.

"Hey!" I snapped, my voice breaking.

"I thought I threw the last one away. How did you get this?" She stared at the vape, then at me, her eyes hardening with disappointment.

"I bought a new one."

Her face fell, and she let out a long sigh, fingers pressed to her forehead as if to stave off a headache. The sight of her, tired and worn, made my anger flare even more.

"I can't keep doing this, Becky."

"Good! Just send me to Grandma and Grandpa's for the rest of the month. No electricity, no rules. It's better than being here," I shot back, my voice low and bitter.

"The home I work for. The home I work to put food on the table and pay for your things," she said, the words breaking with emotion.

"Oh, please. Like I need any of that. You're never home. You put your job before everything else. It's bullshit. I hate living here. And I hate you!" I threw the words at her, not caring that they cut like a knife.

"Becky!" The sharpness of her voice stung, and I turned away, staring out the window as the rain blurred the world into a patchwork of gray.

"Take my phone and send me to Grandma and Grandpa's," I muttered. "At least then I'd get a break from you."

"I'm not sending you there," she said, the determination in her voice making me look at her, confused and angry.

"What, are you going to pull the military camp card again?" I scoffed, my voice heavy with sarcasm.

"No," she said, her voice softening, but only a little. She stared straight ahead, her hands on the steering wheel white-knuckled.

"Then what?"

"I've been doing some thinking, Becky. I think it's better for you to go somewhere else for the rest of the month."

My heart thumped in my chest, the shock settling in. "Where?"

Her eyes met mine, and I saw a storm brewing behind them. "Your dad's."

The words didn't feel real, like a bad joke. "What? I'm going with that man? Are you serious?"

"Becky, you're going with him. I already called him, and he agreed."

"Are you kidding me? I'm going to spend the rest of the month with a man-child who can't even be called a dad? The guy who puts saving the world before showing up for me? Who's got mommy issues and is a two-faced asshole?" My voice cracked, rage and disbelief simmering beneath my skin.

"Becky," she said, her voice softer, almost pleading. "I know you and your dad don't have a great relationship."

"How about we don't have a relationship at all?" I shot back, the words slicing through the air between us.

"Okay, you don't. But I can't just ignore what happened today. You're going tomorrow."

"What? Why? I don't want to go," I said, the disbelief clear in my voice.

"You're coming with me to the station tomorrow. He'll meet us there, and you'll spend the month with him. You'll go to the funeral, too."

The car felt like it was closing in on me, suffocating. The rain still tapped at the window, a monotonous reminder of the storm outside and the storm inside me.

"Becky," she said, her voice barely audible, "your grandfather passed away."

I stared at her, the impact of her words sinking in like a heavy stone in my chest. "That old man? Why would I want to go to his funeral? He never even knew me, and I sure as hell didn't care about him."

"I think it's better for you to be around him, even if it's just for a while. Maybe you'll see something you didn't before," she said, her voice stronger now, sure of itself.

"You don't know me at all," I said, shaking my head, the bitterness tasting like acid on my tongue.

"I know you, Becky. And I know this isn't easy. But I need you to trust me on this," she said, her eyes catching mine for a moment before she turned her gaze back to the road.

The car pulled away from the school, the rain pattering against the windows as if to remind me that this was happening, whether I wanted it or not. I slipped my AirPods into my ears, drowning out the storm, the silence, and the chaos swirling inside me. Pretty Girl by Clairo blared in my ears, but it didn't drown out the truth.

Tomorrow, I'd be with Diego Hargreeves—aka Number Two—my so-called father. And there was no getting out of it.

—————༻☂︎︎༺—————

The car hummed beneath us, the rhythmic sound of rain against the windows joining the tension between us. I slumped back into the seat, the anger still simmering in my chest as I stared out at the blurred world outside. My mom drove with a grip so tight on the wheel, her knuckles were white. The silence between us was like a pressure cooker, ready to blow.

"God, I can't believe this is happening," I muttered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

"Becky, please, try to understand. Your father—"

"Yeah, I know, I know. He's my 'dad.' The man who never showed up to a single one of my birthdays, who barely even knows my favorite color. That dad?" I let out a sharp laugh, bitter and hollow. "He's probably going to welcome me with open arms and a 'Hey, I barely know you, but let's pretend this isn't the worst idea ever.'"

Mom glanced at me, a brief flash of frustration in her eyes before she looked back at the road. "You shouldn't talk so badly about him, Becky. He's still your father."

"Yeah? Well, he didn't exactly want me, did he?" The words hung in the air, sharp and cold. "He only had me because he and you were bored."

The car was filled with the sound of the tires humming against wet pavement, the rain making an almost comforting white noise. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then, as if my words had been a trigger, Mom let out a sigh and her hands relaxed on the wheel.

"Becky, he was—"

"A man-child. Yeah, I know. You don't have to defend him." I scoffed, folding my arms tighter against my chest and staring out the window. "You know what's funny? He's probably going to try to act like the big, cool dad, all laid-back and chill. But we both know he's two-faced, and that 'father figure' act is just that—an act."

Mom's face tightened. She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "Look, I know it's not what you want. But I also know that this... whatever this is between you two, it's not healthy. And maybe, just maybe, being there will help you understand a little more about who he is, and maybe who you are too."

I rolled my eyes, the rain dripping down the glass making rivulets like the doubts in my mind. "Yeah, right. As if I'm going to find anything but disappointment."

The car swerved slightly as she shifted in her seat, the rain pelting down harder as if the weather itself were trying to drown out our conversation. "We're all just trying to figure out where we fit, Becky. Even him."

"Well, maybe he shouldn't have had me if he was just going to be a ghost." The anger flared again, but this time I didn't stop it. I let it spill out, not caring if she heard it or not.

There was a long, taut pause as the rain fell in a symphony of angry drops. Then, Mom's voice was soft but firm. "I know you're hurt, and I know you're scared. But you can't keep carrying this around, not if you want to move forward."

I swallowed hard, the truth stinging, even though I'd heard it a hundred times. "I'm not scared. I'm pissed off." I glanced at her, seeing the weariness etched into her features. "But, sure, let's go find out if he's a changed man, or if he's still the same idiot who thought bringing a kid into this world was just a 'fun' idea."

Mom's lips twitched, almost like she wanted to smile, but the tension was too thick. She let out a low, rueful chuckle. "I'll tell you one thing, Becky. You've got a lot of your father in you."

I turned to her, surprised, and the faintest smirk tugged at her lips. "Unfortunately, I guess that's true."

I huffed, and for a moment, the storm outside felt a little less threatening. It didn't make what was coming any better, but at least it was a reminder that even in the middle of all this anger, there was still some weird, unexpected understanding between us.

But I knew, deep down, that no matter how this month went, I was going to come out of it more convinced than ever that I didn't need a 'father' who was just a boy playing dress-up in a man's life.

—————༻☂︎︎༺—————

The bathroom light was soft, bouncing off the mirror as I applied a layer of face mask to my skin. My phone sat propped up on the bathroom shelf, balanced precariously against a few random bottles, the glow of the FaceTime call casting a faint blue hue across the room. Paisley's face filled the screen, her perfectly lined eyes focused on her own reflection as she applied her makeup.

"A whole month?" she exclaimed, her tone dripping with disbelief. "What the hell? Why couldn't she just send you to your grandparents?"

"I know, right?" I muttered, smoothing the cool mask over my forehead. "But nope. My mom knows me too well. She knows I can't stand my dad, so of course she thinks it's a brilliant idea to make me spend the rest of the month with him. And to top it off? I have to go to my grandfather's funeral."

Paisley's eyebrows shot up as she paused mid-swipe with her eyeliner. "Your grandfather? You mean that old guy who adopted your dad and your aunts and uncles?"

"Yeah, him. Sir Reginald Hargreeves, or whatever the hell his name is," I said, rolling my eyes as I started working the mask onto my cheeks. "A guy I've never met once in my life, by the way. And now I'm supposed to attend his funeral like I actually give a shit."

Paisley leaned forward on her screen, pulling her laptop into view. "Hold up. Let me look this dude up real quick." She typed furiously, her glossy nails clacking against the keyboard. "Here we go: Sir Reginald Hargreeves. 'Father of the famous Umbrella Academy.' Adopted seven kids who were all born on October 1st or something."

I snorted. "Sounds like some weird old dude collecting kids like Pokémon cards. What kind of person does that?"

"Right? Feels like the start of a horror movie," Paisley quipped, her dark lipstick shimmering as she smirked. "Why would anyone want to adopt that many kids, anyway?"

"Who knows," I said, shrugging and tying my hair up in a bun to keep it out of the mask. "But honestly? I don't even care. The guy was probably just a control freak with too much money and time on his hands."

"Hey," Paisley interrupted, squinting at her laptop screen. "Does it say anywhere how he died? Like, do we even know?"

I paused, one hand mid-reach for a towel, and tilted my head. "Good question. How did he die?"

She scrolled through the page, her finger flicking across the trackpad, her face illuminated by the screen's glow. "Weird," she muttered after a moment. "There's nothing about how he died. Like, literally nothing."

"Seriously?" I asked, raising an eyebrow as I leaned closer to the phone. "That's shady as hell."

Paisley shrugged, her focus shifting back to the call. "I mean, he was old, right? It's probably something basic, like a heart attack or whatever."

I rolled my eyes as I picked up the phone and left the bathroom, the damp air trailing after me as I walked to my bed. "Please. He probably forgot to take his medication or something. Classic old rich dude move."

Dropping onto the bed, I flopped onto my back and stared at the ceiling. Paisley's face shifted on the screen as she leaned closer, her curiosity still piqued. "I don't know," she said, biting her lip thoughtfully. "The whole thing seems... off. Like, the timing and everything."

"Whatever," I muttered, letting out a long sigh. "This whole situation is bullshit. A month with a deadbeat dad who only had me because he and my mom were bored? Yeah, sounds like a blast."

Paisley snorted, shaking her head. "Your mom's really playing the long game of revenge, huh?"

I laughed dryly, the weight of the situation settling back in my chest.

The knock on my bedroom door came as no surprise. I didn't even bother looking up from my phone as I heard my mom's voice.

"Becky. I'm coming in."

I sighed, dragging my thumb across the screen as the door creaked open. She stepped in, standing by my bed with her arms crossed.

"Can you end the call, Becky? We need to talk," she said, her tone softer than usual but still firm.

I glanced at Paisley on my screen and sighed again. "I gotta go, Paisley. I'll text you tomorrow."

"Okay, good luck," she said, offering a sympathetic smile before hanging up. I set my phone face down on the bed and finally looked at my mom.

She sighed and sat beside me on the bed, her hands clasped together like she was bracing for something. "Look," she began, her voice quieter now. "I know you're mad at me for making you go stay with your dad. But this wasn't an easy decision for me. Or for him."

I raised an eyebrow and made a face. "Right. So he didn't even want to watch me for the month. Why are you making both of us suffer? He doesn't want me there, and I sure as hell don't want to be there. What part of that aren't you getting?"

She shook her head, trying to stay calm. "No, Becky, that's not it. He did agree. He just... had to think about it for a while."

"Oh, yeah. That makes it so much better," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

She ignored the jab and pressed on. "But I really think this is what's best for you. And for him, too."

I scoffed and looked away, staring at the wall like it held the answer to getting out of this mess.

"He's still your father, Becky," she said gently, trying to meet my gaze. "And I think spending time with him will teach you a lesson."

I turned back to her, raising an eyebrow. "A lesson about what, exactly? How to be ignored? Or maybe how to deal with an asshole who only remembers he has a daughter when it's convenient?"

She frowned but kept her tone measured. "I just think it'll be good for both of you. Maybe it'll help you two finally... connect."

I gave her a flat look, crossing my arms. "We don't have a connection. Never have, never will."

She didn't argue, just let out a slow breath and glanced around my room. Her eyes landed on the half-open suitcase on the floor, clothes haphazardly thrown inside.

"Have you packed yet?" she asked, shifting the subject.

"Yeah," I replied, nodding toward the suitcase.

She got up and peeked inside, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Becky, you've packed a single pair of jeans and your makeup brushes."

"So? What else do you want me to pack? My library card?" I said with a shrug, keeping my tone as dismissive as possible.

She sighed, the kind of sigh that parents do when they're tired of fighting but know they still have to win. "I'll wake you up at 9:30 tomorrow morning," she said as she walked to the door, pausing to look back at me. "And I better see that suitcase packed properly. Not just jeans and makeup."

She tried to offer a small smile before closing the door behind her.

I let out a long breath and flopped back on my bed, grabbing my phone again. I pulled up TikTok, mindlessly scrolling through videos as I tried to push the looming thought of tomorrow out of my head.

Tomorrow morning would be hell.

—————༻☂︎︎༺—————

WORDS WRITTEN:
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