My dad started in with another of his teacher speeches and began to list off the dangers of smoking, of drinking, reminding me that I was only fifteen years old. He warned me about hanging out with a bad crowd, and started talking about how marijuana is a gateway drug, even though there hadn’t been any marijuana involved in the evening. As he rambled, I wanted to scream. I wanted to slam my fists on the table, and I imagined that would scare him and Mom pretty good. I pictured myself opening my mouth and just screaming into his face. He didn’t understand at all. Neither one of them did. I wasn’t drunk. I hadn’t smoked. I had been home on time, as far as I was concerned. But they couldn’t see that everything was fine. They thought I was stupid. Mom had to come outside and embarrass me, and now Dad was treating me like I was an idiot. Both of them staring at me with wide, concerned eyes, like stupid cows. I wanted to shriek at them and scare them and shut them right up. I would scream so hard that my eyes would bulge out of their sockets. My fists clenched as I fought this urge, as I tried to swallow the anger building rapidly inside of me.
Because common sense must always prevail. If I started screaming at them, they would punish me. And I was on the verge of some really cool stuff. They’d ground me, and I wouldn’t get to hang out with Fern next week and go shopping. They certainly wouldn’t let me go to the concert. I couldn’t risk any of that happening. And so, I bore my father’s stupid lecture like a champion. I kept my mouth shut and nodded at all the right times, agreeing with him. Pretending I was stupid like they were. I would have to play nice and wait for the dust to settle a bit, and then let them know about the concert. If they couldn’t see that I was smart enough to make the right decisions, well, that was their fault. In the end, they were only discrediting themselves as parents. Didn’t they understand that I knew right from wrong? That they had taught me that from when I was a little kid? How insecure of them to doubt themselves. Didn’t they think they’d done a good enough job as parents? And if they didn’t think so, why punish me for their own weakness? It was almost comical.
In the end, they conceded that I had technically been “home” at my curfew, but next time I should actually be in the door. I agreed. They said that smoking and drinking are not good ideas, and I agreed. I agreed and agreed, nodding so much that I started feeling dizzy.
TEN
On Monday in art class, Josephine was quiet. I knew why, but for some reason I decided to play dumb. She was hurt by the way I had acted at the party. She had asked me for months to go with her, and I always said no, and the time I did accept, I ignored her the whole time. And this was after she’d assured me that she’d look after me. She was a good friend, and I did feel bad. Which sucked. I should have been on top of the world, excited about the week ahead, planning ways to ask my parents about the concert, but no. All because Josephine was making me feel guilty, sitting next to me quietly, with only a cold little “Hi.” It was irritating. I didn’t want to talk to her about it, because I didn’t want to have to apologize for it. It wasn’t my fault that I’d met someone I had more in common with than her.
After working for quite a while in silence, she finally said, “Aren’t you going to ask me what’s wrong?”
I straightened up and looked at her. “Yeah, of course. Are you okay?”
“Well, not really,” she said, clearing her throat. “I mean, you took off from that party, and it made me feel like you didn’t want to hang out with me.”
Gee, don’t hold anything back. “That isn’t true,” I said.
“Yes it is. I was really excited for you to meet Heather and Erica, and you didn’t even spend any time with me at all, or give a shit about my friends. All you did all night was hang out with Fern.”
“Girls,” Mr. Lee said from the front of the class. “Down a few notches.”
Josephine continued in a whisper. “I’m really pissed off about it, Rachel. You made me feel like crap.”
“How do you think you’re making me feel?” I whispered back. “You know I was scared to go to the party. And when I make a new friend, it’s like you’re jealous or something!”
“I am not jealous!”
“Yes, you are. You’re not my boss, you know. You can’t tell me what to do, at all. Just because you wanted me to hang out with your friends doesn’t mean I’m going to like them. It doesn’t mean they’re going to be the type of people I’d get along with.”
“No, but you didn’t even give them a chance.” Josephine’s face was turning red.