Scene 6: The Parent Card
By: DropDeadThenDance
I walked home from the pizzeria in town, Megan and I having parted ways having lunch. I’d asked if she wanted company on the way home, but she laughed and told me it’d be too much of a trek home for me; she wasn’t execrating either. She lived clear across town from my house, and Donny’s Pizza was close to an hour away from her house, and forty-five minutes from mine. I stuffed my hands in my pockets, thinking about what had happened during sixth and seventh hour today.
I’d always said I wanted a teacher who wouldn’t treat kids like they were just part of their paycheck, but now that one of them was actually taking an interest in my schoolwork, in me, I felt threatened. Maybe he was right in telling me I was lazy, that I was just using that excuse so I wouldn’t have to function, and it’s not like I ever told my parents what I was planning.
They probably would have transferred me to a different school if I told them that, but I never said anything. I tilted my head back, staring up at the sky for a while as I picked apart what I had claimed to believe, my excuses for ignoring school for the last two years; of course I went to avoid truancy tickets, but given the amount of work I did, I might as well not go at all, like Mr. Anderson said.
I looked ahead again, figuring I’d see my house up ahead, but when I leveled my chin with the ground I saw something odd; in my parents’ driveway there sat a big, Ford truck. I walked up slowly, looking at the side where F250 was printed on in bold, silver letters. It was from the 90’s for sure, maybe the same year I was born, and it was silver with black trim. The box was in great condition, like it’d never been used, and there was a black brush guard fasted to the front.
Who did I know who drove a truck this size?
I stared at it for a few long moments, trying to think, but nothing came to me, and I shook my head. I decided it must have been one of my dad’s friends from work, maybe; but either way, I’d find out as soon as I walked through the front door, my hand on the knob. I pushed it open and kicked off my shoes as I closed it behind me, shrugging my messenger bag to the floor. “I’m home!” I called out, and waited.
“Living room,” my dad’s voice called back and I headed there obediently, not thinking twice about it until it was too late to reconsider, too late to come up with the excuses I’d need to get out of this. My parents sat on the couch, my dad looking as if he might explode, while my mom sipped at a cup of coffee. On the other side of the room, sitting in one of the recliners, was Mr. Anderson, a cup of coffee resting between his hands. “Sit,” my dad commanded and I moved mechanically to the other recliner.
You’re dead, you’re totally and completely dead! harangued my thoughts, my hands starting to feel cold and numb, anxiety filtering in from the atmosphere. He’d gone to them, the only authority figures I had any respect for, any inclination to listen too, and knew that they would be infuriated. Sure, they never asked about school, or seemed interested, but I’d gone out of my way to embellish my grades a bit here and there; I never said I was a valedictorian, but I certainly didn’t mention that I was failing every class either…
“Mr. Anderson here called up this afternoon,” my dad said simply, his usually well groomed blonde hair messy, probably from running is hands through it; he always did that when something had him angry or flustered. This was probably a little of both, and judging by the look he was giving me, I’d say there was a fair amount of disappointment in there as well. Dad leaned back against the couch, his hand running through his hair like I’d figured. “Why didn’t you tell us you were having problems in school?” his voice was distressed, bouncing around inside of my head while guilt welled up in me, then frustration.
“I’m not struggling with school,” I countered quickly, my mouth working before my brain. A stab from my mom’s eyes, she was really mad, but I had to pull myself out of the grave, and fast. “Well… Do you remember, that one year, I got into a fight with Mr. Peterson, the Gym teacher?” the subject was brought up tentatively, and both parents nodded.
What had happened with Mr. Peterson was simple enough; I was one of the runty kids in gym, and was constantly having problems, but he never took the time to help me. I complained to my parents about it, and they asked the gym teacher to start taking better care of me, just pay more attention to me in class. He didn’t.
I inhaled slowly, preparing my bullshit excuse, and I could tell by that look on Mr. Anderson’s face he figured it was going to be pretty damn funny. “After what happened with him, I kinda… Decided… That, well, I wasn’t going to put up with him, or any teacher that treated me like that,” I explained delicately, and mom’s eyes drilled into mine. “I know it sounds stupid, but I figured-”
“That you’d just throw your entire life away?” my dad filled in, his hands sitting precariously on his knees, like he might strike out at something; namely me. “Hannah, not doing your work doesn’t hurt the teachers, it hurts you, and us,” he said, gesturing from me, to Mr. Anderson, and then to him and my mother. “What do you think you’re teachers think of me and your mother? Not highly I’m sure,” he was mad now, standing up. I flinched as he stormed out of the room, slamming a door as he went.
“Han,” Mom said calmly, setting her coffee cup down on the table, her focus entirely on me. “If you needed a tutor for school-”
“I don’t need a tutor!” I shouted this time, standing up like dad had done. “Mom, I’m not failing because I’m dumb, I’m failing because I want too!” she looked up at me, unimpressed with my display, and I realized then that this was Mr. Anderson’s plan all along; to make me look like an ass, or maybe just an idiot, in front of my parents. They thought I was failing because I couldn’t handle school… I sat back down, slowly, and exhaled through my nose. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to yell,” and I hadn’t, not at her anyway. It was Mr. Anderson I was should have been tearing into.
“Go apologize to your father,” it was a command, not a suggestion, which implied I was in a heap of trouble. I nodded somberly and stood, but made an effort to shoot Mr. Anderson a hard, sideways glance. If He thought he was going to win this, he was wrong.
Scene End
[Reviews - 21]Chapter or Story
Table of Contents
- Text Size +
Chapter notes:Well, so far, so good as far as uploading this story has gone! Everybody seems to like it so far, so I hope Hannah can keep you guys in your seat and entertained!!
Drop a review and let me know how I'm doing!
(4/12/13)
P.s. go check out the forgotten concepts! I'm hosting a character adoption :3