*Can we reschedule? Something came up. -Jessica.

*Sure, let me know when you're free

I walk towards the main doors and out of the school towards my car. I really didn't want to go home right now, but I guess I will have to. I throw my book bag on the seat beside me, turn the car on, and then pull off.

As I drive down the road, I can't stop thinking about what Thomas said. I can't believe people look up to me. Well, some people, the ones who aren't narcissistic assholes, of course. People really shouldn't look up to me, though. I'm not a role model. If they knew the truth about me. They surely wouldn't.

If they knew I suffered from mental illness and knew I cut. They wouldn't look at me the same. If they knew I had a substance abuse problem and that technically I'm an arsonist, they wouldn't think I was this great person. I know they wouldn't. I don't even deem myself as a good person, so why should they?

I turn the car onto my street and then pull up right in front of my house. My dad's car is in the driveway. He's home early. I grab my book bag off the passenger seat and then get out of the car. I walk to the door, unlock it, and then walk in.

"Jayda!" my dad calls. "Is that you?"

"Yeah!" I toss my keys into the bowl and walk further into the house. He's in the dining room. There are balloons tied to the chair and a cake on the table. It isn't my birthday. Is it? No, my birthday is in July.

"I thought you weren't going to be home until later. Didn't you have something to do?" he says

"Yeah, but we rescheduled. Um, so what's going on?" I ask him. He has a huge smile on his face. It's creeping me out. I've never seen him this excited before. I look at the cake on the table; it has numbers on it 1515.

He grabs a paper off of the table. Then hands it to me "1515!" he says eagerly.

I take the paper out of his hand. It's my SAT results. I scored a 1515.

1515! I can't believe it. Never in a million years did I think I would score this high.

"I have something for you?" he says. He walks past me and turns the corner. After about a second or two, he comes back with a blue and yellow bag. He hands the bag to me.

I take it out of his hand and then look inside. I place the bag on the table and pull out the object inside. It's a sweatshirt. I open it up, and it says UCLA, and it has the school logo in the middle. I don't know how to feel, well, I do. I'm mad; I don't want to go here. I don't want to go anywhere. Why can't he get that? I told him repeatedly that I didn't want to go to UCLA, yet he keeps pushing it. "Thank you, really. But I can't accept this." I fold the sweatshirt back down and stick it into the bag.

He looks shocked. I don't know why. He already knows that I don't want to go there. "What? Why not?"

"Because I don't want to go there. You know that!" I say bitterly.

"I do, but enrollment is a month away. You have to enroll somewhere. So why not here? Do you not want to go here because of what happened at NYU?" he asks.

"How do you know what happened at NYU?" I never went into detail on what happened at NYU. I just told them I didn't do well in the interview.

"I don't know what happened, but it doesn't take rocket science to know that you didn't do good on the interview," he says. "And the reason you didn't do good was because you kept us out the loop. You didn't tell us anything." he seems upset.

"Of course, I didn't tell you guys. I knew you two would disapprove!" I yell.

"We wouldn't have disapproved." He says, his eyebrows scrunch together.

"Yes, you would've." My voice cracks, and my eyes prickle with tears.

"No, we wouldn't have." He fires back aggrieved. "And even if you thought we weren't going to approve, you still should have asked; you should have told us. We could've helped you."

"I didn't want to tell you guys because I didn't want you guys in it— I wanted to do this by myself, for myself. I wanted to see if I could do something without you guys."

"Yeah, well, look where that got you." he spits out. I feel a sharp pain in my heart. "Look, if you don't want to go to UCLA, that's fine. You can go somewhere else. Where do you want to go?"

He still doesn't get it. "I don't want to go anywhere!" I pause. "I don't want to go to college." His face is dull. He isn't showing any emotion or anything. He doesn't look upset, but he doesn't look happy, either. He just stares at me. I can see him processing what I just said in his head. A 'King' not wanting to go to college is like the end of the world for him.

"You know what, you just think about it." He says and then walks right past me. Did he not hear what I just said.  I don't need to think about it. I'm not going to college—it's not even the fact that I don't want to go.

I just... that's just not the plan. I have a plan. The plan is to die. I'm not changing it.

...

My alarm rings. I reach on my nightstand to turn it off. I'm not going to school today. I'm too tired. I should go to school, though. I'm eager to hear what Ms.Rodriguez found out. Then again, I'm not that eager. I really don't care. Plus, I'm not in the mood to deal with the aftermath of yesterday's events.

Ok, it's settled; I'm staying home.

I get out of my bed and walk down the hall to my father's room. I hadn't seen him since our fight yesterday. After he walked away, I came upstairs and stayed in my room for the rest of the day. His room door is open. I walk inside. He isn't in here. I walk out and go down the stairs to his study. I stop in the doorway. His upper body is sprung across the desk. My eyes immediately go to the half-empty whiskey bottle on the desks.

I walk further into the room and over to him. As I get closer, I start to smell the alcohol coming off of his body. I tap him. "Dad." he doesn't respond. "Dad!" I say a little louder. Still no response. He must have passed out. Has he been down here since yesterday? Did he get drunk because I told him I didn't want to go to college?

Why would I tell him that? I shouldn't have told him; I should've kept it to myself. God, this is all my fault. "Dad!" I call him again. This time tears fall down my eyes, and my voice is shaky. I take a deep breath and then leave the room. I go back upstairs to my room, grab my phone and immediately dial my mother's number. It goes straight to voicemail. Great, now what am I supposed to do?

There's Nothing I can do. I just have to wait until he wakes up. I take a cover off of my bed and walk back downstairs to his study. I walk over to him and wrap the cover around him. Then I take the whiskey bottle and glass off the desk and walk out of the study into the kitchen. I rinse out the glass and place it in the dish rack; I should dump the whiskey. I grab the bottle and remove the top. I hold it over top of the sink but I can't bring myself to pour it out.

Without thinking, I bring the bottle to my lips, and with one quick swig, it's gone. I embrace the familiar burn as it goes down my throat. I walk over to the couch and lay down. My inside burn. I haven't drunk since I burned down my dad's dealerships. I hate the way drinking makes me feel. My head is spinning, and it feels like I have to throw up already. I never had a weak stomach, but I guess since I haven't drunk in a while, my stomach can't handle liquor like it used to.

I just needed something to calm me down; I need to just relax; drinking helps me relax, it was only a little, so I should be fine in a few hours. I just need to sleep it off. Before I know it, I am fast asleep on the couch.

...

A loud knock startles me. As soon as I open my eyes I am consumed by the spinning room. I don't know how but I am now on the floor on all fours. I wait until I can gather myself and then slowly lift off the floor. I grab the sofa's armrest to help lift myself up. Someone knocks at the door again. I walk slowly towards the door, when I open it I squint; it's so bright outside. After blinking a few times, I see who it is. "Ryder," I say groggily.

"What the hell?" he says sternly and then walks right into the house.

"Well, hello to you too," I say sarcastically. I shut the door and turn around a little too fast; I stumble but catch myself before I fall.

"Are you drunk?" he asks me.

"No." I lie. I look up at him, his lip has a scar on it, and there is a dark slash under his eye. I wonder how Matt looks. He has to look worse than Ryder does. Ryder did get more hits in than he did.

He asks "Why weren't you at school today?"

"I uh... I."

"Jayda." My father groans. I quickly walk past Ryder and into my father's study. He's up, well barely he is standing, but he's hunched over the desk.

"Dad," I walk into the room beside him.

"Is he drunk?" Ryder asks, "What the hell is going on here?"

"Could you just shut up and help me get him upstairs?"

He folds his arms and leans against the wall. "That's not what I came here for."

"Ryder!" I snap.

He smacks his teeth and then walks over to me. He grabs him on the right side. I grab him on the left. We both slowly walk out of the room. "I'm sorry." my drunk father groans.

"It's ok."

"Where's...where's your mother? Tell her I'm sorry, too." his words are slurred.

"Why am I telling her you're sorry?" I ask him. I grab him tighter as we walk up the stairs. The last thing I need for him to do is to fall back.

"She knows," he says.

We enter his room and place him on the bed. Ryder steps back. I bend down to untie his shoes. "You should leave his ass, how he is," he rudely says.

"I'm not going to do that."

He blows his breath. I grab one of the covers on my father's bed and place it over top of him. "I'm sorry for everything." my father says.

I place my hand on his warm arm. "It's ok, just rest." I walk out of the room with Ryder behind me and shut the door. I guess he really is sorry for pressing the college issue. I didn't want him to feel this bad.

Dizziness comes over me again. I stumble a little. Ryder's cold hands grab my waist, steadying me. I turn around and push him off of me. "What are you doing here?" I growl. I walk into my bedroom, he follows behind me.

"So you didn't come to school because your dad is drunk, and you're drunk?"

"It's really none of your business." I narrow my eyes at him and sit on my bed.

He pushes his hair back with his right hand. "Whatever." he rolls his eyes.

I ask him a third time why he is here. He doesn't respond right away. He just looks at me. "I don't know. I just wanted to make sure you were all right." he says.

"Oh." I don't know what else to say.

"Are you ok?"

"Yes, are you?"

"I'll be fine,"

"You can sit if you want?" He's just standing in the middle of my room floor. It's weird and its making me nervous. He pulls out the seat and sits. "So, what happened at school?" I ask.

"People talked shit," he says candidly.

"What did your teammates say?"

"Nothing. Well, I didn't hear them say anything. I didn't really talk to any fucking one. I was late for school, and then I left before lunch." he explains.

"Where did you go?"

"That's really none of your business," he says, clearly mocking me. I narrow my eyes at him, and I see a small smile come across his face. It's weird to see him smile. I don't think I've never seen him smile before. He's always so serious about everything. I can't believe we are actually sitting here having a normal conversation, no yelling, no rudeness, just talking like normal people. I never thought this would ever happen. Let me shut up; I don't want to jinx it.

"Was Jessica at school?" I ask.

"No," he says. "You really shouldn't be hanging out with her."

"Why not?" I'm really sick and tired of people telling me who and who not to hang out with.

He shrugs his shoulders. "She's just someone you shouldn't be around."

"I shouldn't be around you, but I am." I snap, tilting my head to the side.

He presses his lips together. I can tell he's getting upset. He twists the silver ring on his finger to the left—my phone starts to ring on the table. It must be my mom. I quickly hop off my bed, he grabs the phone off my desk before I can. By the way, his face changes; I know it isn't my mom.

He stands up from the chair. "Your boyfriend is calling you." he tosses the phone towards me.

I quickly catch it before it falls. Before I can say anything, he is already walking out of my room down the stairs. Then I hear the front door slam shut.

(So I'm heartbroken guys, I don't know if your fans of The 100 but I am a die heart fan, I just watched the latest episode. Season 7 Episode 13! I keep replaying the scene I can't believe it, they really ruined the show, I don't even want to watch it no more 7 years of my life down the drain. I really woke up crying just thinking about it. Anyways this is you guys double update also guys I'm editing this book and there's no save button when your on the computer so you're going to be seeing old chapters getting posted again so just ignore that.)