"Oh, Amber." My maman said to my little sister, Amber, as she cleaned the dishes. She had one of her derogatory smiles, usually spotted when thinking or talking about the Agreste family. "You really don't want to go over to Mr. and Mrs. Agreste's house."
"Why not?" Amber cocked her little head, eyes big with confusion.
"Why not?" Mama asked. "What do you mean, why not? Haven't I told you? They're mean, mean people. You don't like mean people, do you Amber?" She's pretty evil and slick, my mother. She can make Marinette seem like a complete monster, when in reality she's also pretty nice.
"N-no, Mama." Amber viciously shook her head.
"They caused me a lot of pain, and started drama, especially that witch Marinette. She took away my Adri-"
"Adrien. She took away Adrien Agreste from you, we get it." I stepped forward, carrying my Algebra 2 book. "Is that the only reason why you hate them? Why you hate her? It's all because of your jealousy."
Mom clenched her fists and gritted her teeth. She hated being told the truth, and I kind of took after her a little. In fact, I took after her from a lot of things: judging people quickly, being rude at times. I was able to hide my cruel tendencies, no matter how tempting. Unlike my mother. "You've certainly been talking back to me more lately, haven't you Ivonne?" She narrowed her eyes, indicating that I've gone too far, which I have. But I'm not done yet. "Go upstairs and we'll have a chat."
"No." I watched from the corner of my eye as Amber widened her eyes even more. She hated
fighting. I shouldn't be doing this. But this one-sided war they have has to stop.
"Excuse me?"
"I said no. In fact, I'll take Amber to their house myself on my way to my journalism meeting. Come on, Amber."
"Okay!" Amber grabbed her Ladybug backpack, which only angered mom more. She ran out the door and to the side of the car my mom bought me a couple months ago for my birthday, after I got my permit. She jumped around, oblivious to the thick tension that circled the house.
My mom came close to me, tilting my chin. Her perfume smells too strong, and she put on too much lipstick, so much that it kind of passed the border of her thin lips. Her hair was a disheveled mess, and she raised one plucked eyebrow. She was perfect by French blonde cliche standards, and she wanted all of us to meet those standards, and to hate anyone who get what we can't have. In other words, she taught us what she could, but they weren't the right morals to teach a child. She was trying to raise a bully.
"You can go and drop her off," She says, letting go of my chin and walking back to the sink. "But by the time you come back from tutoring, you're grounded, missy."
"Whatever." I grabbed my bag, pulling out a small compact mirror and looking myself straight into my own reflection. I looked okay, but I sure didn't feel okay.
I swung my bag over to my shoulder, and with a angry flourish, I left.
"Let's go, Vonnie!" She bounced in her seat, when I got in the car. "I wanna stop by their family bakery!"
"Okay. I think we have an hour or so before I have to be in the meeting room, and they live close by. Let's go."
While Vonnie cheered and I pretended to make everything seem like it's okay, my mother glared at me through the kitchen window and mouthed, "Grounded."
I sighed. She'll never admit she's wrong.
She's in denial.