This story sort of resembles something that recently happened to me. The dialogue is what would have been said if I had been in the right state of mind to think. Honestly, I was just so surprised that this woman tried to talk to me…
The tall, blonde girl was sitting in a classroom desk with her head gripped tightly in her hands. A paper was laid out in front of her and she glanced at it every few seconds. As time went on, the girl's face scrunched tighter and tighter as she stared at the complex algebra problems that challenged her to find the value of x.
The girl was so immersed in her homework that she didn't hear someone enter the room. A woman with wide hips and thin lips entered the room, wearing a very ostentatious leopard print trench coat. Her makeup was that of an old woman who was trying to make herself look younger. She was wearing jeans that were practically ripping at the seams and her shirt's neckline was so plunging that anyone would be surprised to find the woman anywhere other than a club. The smell of some horrid perfume rolled off of the woman in waves as she advanced on the girl, much like a jungle cat stalking its prey.
"Hey, Sweetie!" the woman's voice drawled out in a fake siren-esque accent.
The girl was completely tuned out to the world that she didn't bother to check who had spoken to her. Offering a hasty "hello" in reply, she returned to her work.
"Dear, how are you?"
Again, the girl wasn't paying attention.
"Honey, are you even listening to me?"
The girl glanced up in annoyance, prepared to tell the aggravating intruder to go away.
She stared for a minute. And another.
The girl began to haphazardly shove papers, books, and pencils into her bag, preparing to make a run to the exit. It was no good.
The woman had cornered her.
"Well, darling, now that I've got your attention; why haven't you talked to me recently?"
The woman's nasally voice grinded against the girl's ears, making her wants to cover them. She tried to judge if she could make it to the door. It was about 5 or 6 feet away from her. The woman –who was rather large- blocked every possible chance of the girl's escape. She resigned herself to the fact that talking to the woman was the only way out.
"Darling," the woman's drawling voice said "I was wondering why you've been avoiding my phone calls."
The girl attempted to bite back her scathing comment, but to no avail.
"Well, I would've answered them if I had actually wanted to talk to you."
The woman expression was one of feigned hurt.
"Well, hon, you have to understand; as your stepmother, I believe you and I should have regular conversations. If you had picked up the phone, I would've told you about your new car. Your father and I agreed that if you move back in with us, we'll buy you a BMW."
The girl looked at the woman in disbelief. This woman, who had wrecked the girl's life in more ways than one, was asking for the girl's return. No, not asking. She was attempting to buy it back.
"Well, darling" the girl began, putting as much sarcasm and loathing as she could into one word. "If you hadn't guessed when I turned down my inheritance, I don't care about money or fancy cars. Unfortunately, all you and Dad seem to care about is that stuff. You and your Armani clothes and BMW's make me sick. How much will it take for you to understand that I don't want that life?"
The girl pushed past the woman, not bothering to look at her expression, and left the room. Pulling out her homework, she felt like she had solved a whole lot more than algebra problems that day.