After school, I head straight home hating both of my parents for not getting me a car last year for my sixteenth birthday. My back is really killing me from carrying these books, and it feels like I’m lugging around a bag of potatoes. I’m supposedly going to meet Grace in an hour to do homework (mainly catching her up on Hamlet, because she has absolutely no idea what to look for in the reading) and then going to work, but with the way I’m feeling, which is pretty crappy, I might not make it. Right when the school disappears from view my cell phone rings, and I’m really shocked because I normally don’t talk to anyone on it except my mother. I stop walking and answer it feeling the pain in my back intensify as I stand straight up.

“Kira, where are you right now?” my sister asks on the other side of the phone. I can hear the annoyance in her voice as if I just ditched her or something.

I look around searching for the name of the street, “uh, on M.L K. Why?” Just as I ask she swerves around the corner in my father’s 1966 Shelby Cobra GT350 Mustang. She pulls up next to the sidewalk with a thousand megawatt smile, and believe me I had to almost pinch myself to make sure that I wasn't daydreaming again. How the hell did she convince dad to let her borrow it? After turning off the car she steps out jiggling the keys in her hand, still smiling at me.

“So, do you plan on standing there all day or do you want to drive this sexy beast?” she asks, walking toward me and dropping the keys in my hand. “Just don’t crash it, or we’re both dead.”

I smile then hop in throwing my bag into the backseat, I turn the key in the ignition and the car rumbles to life. Gywnn gets into the passenger side making herself comfortable and then I pull away from the curb and zoom off towards home. As I drive my sister inserts her new Rihanna CD, she cranks the stereo and begins singing loudly, and off key I might add. I roll down the windows allowing a little circulation of air (and my sister’s singing) through the car, if she’s going to sing at least I won’t be just me baring it.

“So how did you convince dad to let you get the car?” I ask, side glancing her. After along pause of silence I turned to face her, my mouth open wide, that’s why she let me drive because she didn’t ask for the car she just took it. “Gwynn!”
She just laughs halfheartedly,” Don’t trip little sis, Dad’s not even home. He left this afternoon on another business trip to LA.” She rolled her eyes then turns up the stereo, “Who knows when he’s coming back.” Even though my father does actually work in LA, he also lives there and he’s been going back and forth between the two houses for almost two years now. Sometimes I wonder when he’s gone for long periods of time if he’s just going to up and leave us, not that I would really care, it’s not like he takes much notice in me anyways. All his love and money are invested in Gwynn going to college and making something of herself. And honestly, knowing the truth about what my dad thinks of me really does hurt.

When I pull onto our street I start to panic because our mom’s car is sitting in the driveway. She objects to anyone driving as she calls it The Metal Death Trap, she believes that it was a waste of hard earned money and despises the fact my dad even bought it. I pull directly into the empty space in the garage next to my mom’s new 2007 Toyota RAV4, hoping that I don’t scratch it as I park. Once I shut of the engine Gwynn instantly jumps out and dashes into the house, leaving me standing outside looking like a complete idiot. Before I even step through the door I can sense my mom’s anger, like some dark ominous cloud hovering in the sky. She’s really in a foul mood, and this time it isn’t my fault. As I walk through the door I’m greeted with a long disappointed look from my mom who is standing by the staircase her arms crossed and her lips pursed standing a few inches above me with her stylish coach square glasses falling off the tip of her small brown nose. “Hello Kira.” She says simply, her eyebrow tightly knit. “How was school?” I don’t reply because I know she’s not really searching for an answer. I just stand there my hands shoved into my jean pockets with my eyes glued to the floor.

“So, you took your father’s car? After I specifically told you and your sister not to drive that hazardous contraption!” she screams shaking her head, “Do you know how dangerous that thing really is?” Again I don’t reply, because I know all she’s really wants is for me to stand there looking pathetic and pitiful. I shrug refusing to look her in the eyes and admit that I know driving dad’s car was wrong, but I mean it’s not all my fault! Gwynn is the one who brought the car to me, but of course that juicy detail doesn’t matter because she’s my mom’s precious first daughter who doesn’t rebel against her parent’s wishes and does every thing she’s told when suggested. I roll my eyes at the thought, yeah right Gwynn is totally out to sabotage me, but does she care, no! I can feel her narrowed eyes burning holes into my head. And I know that I’m really dead now.

I trudged up the stairs and head to my room, after what seemed like five hours of standing in front of my mother with absolutely nothing to say. I was at a loss for words so all I could do was shrug occasionally, nod some what and avoided eye contact which earned me the ultimate punishment of being grounded for the next four weeks. I throw open my door then slam it shut once I’m safely behind it, proving my point to my mother (and sister) that right now I am not a happy camper! Awhile later I’m lounging on my futon-bed listening to “Let the drummer kick?” by Citizen Cope, and mind you I’m playing the song so loud on my iPod dock that it’s practically shaking my computer desk, but than again I don’t care because I am the horrible second child, who completely disregards any rules set for her, plus my mom hates anything that isn’t clean friendly music. Gwynn knocks on the door, opens it then stands in the hall looking at me with guilt ridden eyes. Her body language is hesitant and shaky, and she’s refusing to hold my gaze. Oh, yeah. I got to her.

“K, look, I didn’t mean to get you into trouble. You know I always got ya’ back.” She says, giving a heartfelt Hollywood smile. I roll my eyes then turn the volume up to twenty-nine drowning out her ridiculous sob story. She always uses me as her own personal scapegoat. Smiling and sweet talking her way out of things, then blaming them on me and to be honest I’m fed up with it. She walks in and plops down on the edge of my bed, her elbows resting on her knees and her head clasped in her hands.

I peek up from my Teen magazine that I forcedly engrossed myself in (mainly because I needed something to distract me from my sister’s face) and see that my sister is gazing at me so apologetically that it actually makes me feel guilty about getting mad at her. I hate being such a softy. I set the magazine aside then I turn down my iPod, considering listening to her full apology.

“On a real note, I thought you would ‘a booked too. I didn’t actually think you would go through the garage door. But I’m really sorry K, really I am.” I sigh then shrug, hating the fact that I am so considerate and allowing her to slide once again with getting me in to trouble.

“Whatever. Don’t worry about it Gwynn.” I say, really trying to sound sincere.

“Listen, I’ll go tell mom right now that it was entirely my fault if you want.” She says, trying to win back my sisterly trust even if it means that mom will be on her case the second she confesses. I know she doesn’t mean it, it’s written all over her face, but still it was a nice thought. I decline the offer, she breathes a sigh of relief then leans over and hugs me, because for about the millionth time I’ve saved her skin. I mean what else could I do? She’s the only one in my family who doesn’t think of me as this Big Disappointment, and even though it’s worse knowing that she’s the only one who actually cares about my existence and acknowledges it I still feel taken advantage of.

I lie back on my bed and close my eyes, dreading the fact that I just got grounded and school just started no longer than eight hours ago. I reach for my phone and call Grace hoping that she won’t trip because I can’t help her with her homework tonight. She picks up being her usual perky self asking me when I was coming over, and how badly she need my help. My insides get all tight as I explain that I probably won’t be visiting her house anytime soon.

“Dang Kira, didn’t school just start? I mean that must be a world-record for getting grounded before assignments are due! What the hell did you do anyways?” she asks incredulously.

“Just this whole episode with Gwynn and my dad’s car, nothing big though. It’s coo, maybe if I act invisible for a week my mom will let me off with a warning.” I reply rolling my eyes, I mean how hard can it be to act how I normally do? I’m actually praying that this whole thing will blow over, and that my mother will be so occupied with work that she won’t remember that I’m grounded. I the only reason why my mother usually leaves me alone is because she’s always fussing over Gywnn otherwise I would have had a heart attack when I turned fifteen. After Grace further quizzes me on my day, and gabs more on how cute this years juniors are we finally say goodnight then hang up. I roll over facing the wall with my many poster plastered over it. As I laid there in this pathetic curled up ball of self-pity and I realized that being grounded meant that I wouldn’t (or at least for a few weeks) be able to do early morning practices, which means that I will be in horrible conditions when Smooth auditions start. (Smooth a.k.a Smooth beat is a dance company that holds open dance auditions to the public, and also offer scholarships to those who plan on going to Performing Art colleges)

Ok, well maybe the auditions weren’t until spring break. But I still needed to be in top shape when they do roll around. I place my pillow over my head then inhale deeply hoping to successfully suffocate myself so I no longer have to think of how messed up my life truly is. A knock comes to the door, it’s Gwynn, of course, and she says that dinner is ready. I don’t respond though, I merely close my eyes and after that everything is blank.

“Kira, wake up! Your sister is leaving and if you want a ride I suggest you get up!” My mom screams, poking her head around my door. I groan then turn over. She walks in and then tares my comforter off of me then shrieks, “Kira! You slept in your clothes! Get up right now and take a shower. Kira Isabella Thomas!” After she screeches my full name I finally drag myself out of bed and head for the bathroom. Gywnn walks by me in the hall and begins her ranting about how if I just woke up when I was told than mother wouldn’t come in bantering blah blah blah. I am truly not a morning person, well that’s a lie, I became a non-morning person the minute my mom grounded me. Go figure.

I get in the shower and turn the knob so far to the right (Our temperature control is color based. Right side is red, and left side is blue) that the water could boil eggs. I wash up with two different body scrubs, shower gel, and then I squirt my favorite VO5 watermelon shampoo in my hands and gently ease it into hair feeling relaxed and at peace, until my mother starts banging on the bathroom door threatening to turn off the hot water if I don’t get out and be dressed in exactly ten minutes. I plug in my blow dryer fluffing my shoulder length brown curls dry and combing my fingers through it, and then give myself a quick rub down before slipping into my sister’s light-wash Younique jeans (she owes me so I don’t care if she gets on my case) my baby blue and yellow screen-tee that says “dancing fool” on the front of it that I bought from Forever 21, my white and black striped adidas, and my favorite fitted yellow blazer. I then grab my books, slip out the door, and then race downstairs to meet my mother.

Gwynn has already left, I know because my mother is washing all the dishes from breakfast, the sad thing is mine is the only on that remains on the kitchen table. By itself and all alone. Two pieces of toast pops out of the toaster just as my mother turns around and gives me one of her infamous looks. “Kira Isabella Thomas, eat some breakfast before we leave. Your toast is there, and your eggs are in the microwave—now hurry up, so I can take you to school!” I obey, grabbing my plate then walking over to the microwave I place the eggs on the plate then I reach for the toast and slab a giant wad of butter on both pieces. My mom is all about wholesome meals; if it were up to her I would probably weight twenty pounds more, and be wearing preppy-church school looking clothes. I shove a fork of egg into my mouth, swallow then I take a bite of my toast, once done I leave half the egg and the second piece of toast sitting on my plate. And then my mom’s eyes met mine briefly, she gives me another one of her many disapproving looks then hands me a tall glass of soymilk.

Oh, yeah, my mom is lactose and tolerate but last year when she visited the doctor he said she need some form of calcium a day, so now not only does she drink it but she forces everyone in the house to also drink it as well and it isn’t the chocolate kind that has at least a little taste to it, no it’s plain boring still unappetizing vanilla.

I take a swig than dump the rest into the sink. I’m actually glad that I’ve gotten passed the nasty gag factor of soy, believe me it’s hard to go from normal milk that actually tastes good and creamy, to a non favorable milk substitute. My mom sets down the dishes that she’s drying and reaches for her keys that are hanging on the key-rack beside the backdoor. “Don’t forget to feed your dog. Sometimes I wonder why I even bought him for you, you never play with him, and now everyone but you feeds him.” She says her arms folded over her chest. Charlie is my Dalmatian puppy, the only reason why she gets on my case about him is because my dad doesn’t really like animals and to be honest I think my mom bought him without first consulting him, not like she really needs to but I’m sure that’s what he wanted. I open the backdoor and Charlie is sitting on the lawn waiting patiently for his breakfast, his spotted tail wags vigorously once he sees me step outside.

His pink tongue is lolling about as he stands looming over his food dish eager to devour his food, I greet him with the usual behind the ear scratch and a pat on the head then I fill the metal dish with Pedigree puppy-chow and fill the second dish with water. I walk back into the house, grab my books off the kitchen table then head for car where I know my mom is already waiting for me.

The second day of school (Tuesday) is always like the first, people are always wondering around still trying to find their classes (mainly freshman), gabbing about what they did over the summer break, or just loitering in the hallways until the bell rings. So I’m making my way to physics and I’m seriously having second thoughts about going to the class, or taking it at all for that matter. I thinking about going to my counselor and requesting a change in my schedule, my stomach gets all tight in knots when I think of that princess/Barbie looking girl staring continuously at me for the full seventy minutes, which I might add is the requirement to pass this year.

I walk through the door just as the bell rings, and princess/Barbie is sitting in her assigned seat, with her Gucci purse and physic hard bound book before her, tapping her French manicure on the desk with a bored tired look on her face. This leads me to believe that this rude behavior is normal for her. However, I decided that instead of being inspected by judge Amy here, that I would try and be optimistic and not take her staring personally. Her narrowed eyes followed me as I sat down beside her, I dropped my books on the desk than slammed my hands on its glossy surface, I figured why not confront her about this whole ordeal because come on can I really be optimistic. I turned to confront her but what I wasn’t expecting was a smile.

Ok, let me explain her smile, now I don’t know if it was just me but she must have been a girl scout when she was younger because she had that creepy salesmen grin down to a tee. And she has an infinite amount of them, all of them large and completely square. The Apocalypse fell over the class as Mr. Collins entered the room; upon this she gave me a less toothy smile but a girl scout nonetheless. “Cute top,” she whispered, leaning over towards me, “Hey, I’m Megan, by the way.” There’s something smug in her voice as she says her name, I don’t what it is but it seems like she was expecting me to already know her as if she’s Paris Hilton or something. I mean I do know her just not personally, but ever since we came to this school as freshman she’s always been little Miss Popular.

“Kira.”

She pauses as if I’d just spoken in another language, “Kira?”

I nod then focus back on Mr. Collins whose standing at his podium going over last night’s homework, which of course I didn’t do because I fell asleep early. I unzip my backpack and take a clean sheet of paper and a pen, and start jotting down a few things. I knew that if I didn’t write it down now then I would forget later and then I would just put off doing the assignment further, which give my mom another reason to extend my being grounded. I looked up from my notes, and Mr. Collins began writing something new on the board but I couldn’t really concentrate on copying it all down because I could feel Megan’s eyes wandering all over my face. I look up and smile, but this time she doesn’t smile back, she just keeps staring at me. Personally, it’s awkward having someone stare at you for a long period of time. I mean does she blink?

After class Grace is waiting for me at my locker, I open it and switch out my books and shove them all into my backpack. Grace hands me half of a cinnamon scone that she saved from lunch, I pop a piece into my mouth just as Megan walks by. Only this time when she does her face is all scrunched up in disapproval, but she acknowledges my presence instead of just passing by.

“Hm, you must be Grace.” Megan says, as a statement instead of a question, with eyes narrowed.

“Uh, yeah.” She says, running her fingers through her red-hair.

Just then two girls coming toward us waving and smiling, both blonds and both are carrying Louis Vuitton bags of different size and types of course. I don’t know what it is but there’s something about owning the same purse as another person that goes against some unwritten girl rule, I assume it’s because people start to believe that your copying off the original owner or something.

“Megan!” they both say, in these entirely unbelievable over animated voices.
It’s not that I care or anything, but I mean can these girls be anymore like barbies? Oh, so plastic, and oh, so fake. I just stare at the three of them, standing in front of my locker, with these really bogus smiles on their faces and can’t help but think what the hell is going on?

“Kira, this is Emily,” she says, pointing to the shortest girl wearing a SoHo pink tee with a faded J-lo tore skirt that’s bejeweled in pink rhinestones down the sides, with dirty blond hair and huge brown eyes. “And this is Simone, you probably know her. She threw that awesome end-of-the-year party our sophomore year.” She nods towards the strawberry blond, who was full inspecting her cuticles instead of looking anywhere remotely near my face. “Guys, this is Kira. And her friend Grace.”

“Hi Kira.” They both say as if they’re actually elated to see me.

“Hey.” I say, giving them a same smile as I shuffle my backpack from one shoulder to the next.

When the bell rings for English I couldn’t have been in anymore of a rush to get there. After the weird introductions, and the sudden attention from one of the “so-called” popular girls, wouldn’t you want to rush to get somewhere to think it through? After some also awkward good-byes we (Grace and I) hurry off to class, well we sort of sprinting to class wanting nothing more than to get away from Megan and her fan club. So we’re in front of the door, panting from our half-jog half running work out and

Grace asks, “Uh, what is that about?” I shrug because to be honest I don’t know what that whole scenario was about. But obviously this girl scout was selling more than some peanut butter patties and thin mints.

I fling open the door (almost knocking over Mr. Dawson and bring humiliation and embarrassment to myself once more) then walk inside and slip into my seat with Grace right behind me. I throw my bag down at my feet, unzip it and pull out Hamlet and open it to the page number written on the chalkboard. Grace leans down at the exact moment and whispers, “Ok, homeboy is staring again. Is there something going on between ya’ll?” I glance over my shoulder, and to my dismay Dante is staring directly at me, not that I couldn’t feel him staring me (again) when I entered the classroom, which of course is a serious déjà vu moment, but I just shake my head then look away.

“Thanks for joining us, Miss Adams and Miss Thomas.” Mr. Dawson says, rubbing his stomach. And right now I’m guessing that that’s the spot where the doorknob almost knocked the wind out of him from when I flung it open.

“Sorry, Mr. Dawson.” We both mumble, leaning back in our chairs.

Mr. Dawson begins reading a passage from the book, using dramatic emphasis as he read each character. It was actually impressive to listen to his voice change as he spoke, I mean being an English teacher must automatically give you acting talent as well as being able to comprehend Shakespeare. Once he sends us off into independent study Grace sends me a text message.

Grace: R U tlkin’ 2 Dante?

At first I’m a little stunned, well actually I was fully caught off guard by the bluntness of the question. I glance in her direction, shooting her a curious look, why did she want to know if I was or wasn’t seeing him. I know she’s my friend but if I was dating him, I would have told her by now.

Me: No. Y?

After getting the text she looks up at me then smiles?

Grace: D iz fine. I mite ask em out

I shake my head while stifling a giggle, now I know that’s rather mean of me to do because I know that she’s actually being quite serious with me, offering herself up in this very vulnerable emotional way, but being realistic I see Dante dating the type of girl who looks more like Megan and her band of phonies. And by type I mean one of those wealthy, modeling beautiful girls; who does what she wants, and gets what she wants. She can wander around the school and be anything she wants because she believes she’s earned that right, but she doesn’t want to be anything else, unless she were to suddenly get rid of my actually baffles me how someone who believes that the world revolves around them and is so materialistic, and shallow can really be the most popular girl in the school (behind my sister that is) but that’s beside the point.

She’s looking at me waiting for a response, but I just sit there shrug and shove my phone back in to my pocket then start flipping through my book in a sad attempt to absorb something from today’s lesson.

By the time we make it to seventh period, which is our drama/performing arts class, I am so tired of Grace talking about her plan for snagging Dante. I’m happy that she has a crush, and that she’s has her eyes set on the prize, but it all makes my stomach churn in this really annoying nauseous way. I pause with my hand on the heavy metal auditorium doors; I could hear Mrs. Riley instructing another one of her breathing exercises as she warmed up the class. Mrs. Riley is a petite elderly hobbit of a woman with wide-bug-eyed wire framed glasses that cover up half of her small face, and whose hair faintly streaked blond from her younger days. She’s was actually an actress before she came to teach at East-Lake, working on shows Star Trek and MASH, and she even had a few small parts in a couple of movies.

I opened the door and all but a few people peeked around to look at us. Everyone knew that Mrs. Riley was very strict when it came to being on time, because according to her the theater waits for no one, or something along those lines. I walked on to the stage with Grace right behind me, throwing our things aside we filed into the semi-breathing circle and began to relax and allow the theater muse to take consume and empower us. (That’s Mrs. Riley speaking not me)

“Welcome back class, and welcome to a new year of performing arts!” she says in this exhilarated voice, as she rises from her director’s chair. Even though Mrs. Riley is on some level of weirdness that no one in the world has discovered yet, I really miss the time spent in her class; secretly she’s the best teacher I’ve had since I’ve started high school.

“This year we will be inviting profession instructors to teach you in the way of your art. This will extend your range of knowledge and your outlook of your art.” And then again when she starts acting like this, you can’t help but feel a little sorry for her. She goes to her briefcase removes a stack of papers then hands them to Ashley (who is seat directly underneath Mrs. Riley in the circle) who distributes them amongst us. On the sheet of paper is a list of the instructors’ names in alphabetically order and group together by talent, dance/ballet, acting, musician-ship etc.

Mrs. Riley clapped her pale hands together and we all rose from the floor with all eyes watching her. “This semester you will need to sign up for the field you would like to study. Now take into consideration that this might be the same thing you do your senior year, so choose wisely!” she shouts as we all skim over the paper. “Now, to mirror imagery!”