In this story, Manny developes anorexia. That's all I'm gonna say.
BTW: I do not own Degrassi or any of the charactors, this story is made
up. Here goes:
Part One:
"Manualla?"
Great. Father was home. Why can't he just leave me alone? Next thing
he'll be doing is knocking on my door, and-
(Knock knock). "Manualla?" He came in without even asking if it was
okay, as usual. God, he thinks it's his right to barge in on me. What
if I'd been naked or something?
I turn on my fake smile. "Hello, Father."
He didn't ask me how my day was. He didn't even say "hello". He said
his usual line: "Do you have your homework done yet?"
I cringe. Urg. This was what I'd been dreading. He hates it when I
don't have my homework done when he gets home. Mom had been gone when
I'd come home, so I'd spent some time on the Internet. So I didn't have
my stupid homework done.
"I've been working on it all afternoon, Father," I lie. "But I just
have to-"
"Manualla," Father said sternly. "You know what we talked about. I ex-
pect you to get your homework done every day before dinner."
"I know, Father, but-"
"No excuses, young lady." He sighed. "Well, dinner is ready. Eat, then
get right back to work."
"Yes, sir," I mumbled, and followed him out of the room.
Why was he being like this? All that year, he'd become so...
controlling. I had to show him my homework every day, I could only
watch TV for a half hour every night, and I couldn't date. When I'd
gone on the date with Craig, I'd lied and said I was spending the night
at Emma's. Only after calling Ms. Nelson and talking her ear off for an
hour did he allow me to go. And he would have killed me if he found out
about the dance Emma and I crashed.
He'd always been so fun before this year. He would take me out to ice
cream instead of making me do my homework...perfectly. Nothing is diff-
erent in his life to make him act this way, and I've done nothing to
make him not trust me.
We make it to the dinner table. Mama has set the table, and we sit
down to a quiet dinner. I remembered the old days, when we'd all talk
and laugh the whole time. Now...it's horrible.
I wonder if Mama and Father are having problems. They never fight, and
they always have their "private time" in the parlor in the evening just
like before. Mama won't talk to me about it...in fact, she won't talk
to me about anything, about Father's controlling behavior or anything.
Not that it was too weird, not as weird as how Father was acting: I've
never been very close to Mama, anyway.
Mama was serving her specialty, echiladas. There were refried beans
and rice on the side. Usually, I dig into this kind of meal: it's my
favorite. But tonight, I noticed my parents as they ate. My mother ate
tiny, careful bites, while my father dug in like I usually do. I was
disgusted by it, the way that he bent close to his plate and shoveled
the food into his mouth. Does he even have time to taste it? I hope I
don't eat like that!
I was hit with a sudden thought: they don't even notice me! They
didn't even notice that I wasn't eatting. So I stood up. "I think I'll
eat a little later. I should really finish my homework."
They looked up. Father seemed to approve: I guess "family time" isn't
very important to him. Mama offered to put the plate in the fridge for
me, but I said I would and went into the kitchen. I carefully scraped
my dinner in the garbage and covered it with over garbage so they
wouldn't notice. Then I went upstairs in triumph.
Fahter could control my curfew, and when I do my homework. But he
couldn't do anything about my eatting!
Please read and review. Thanks.
BTW: I do not own Degrassi or any of the charactors, this story is made
up. Here goes:
Part One:
"Manualla?"
Great. Father was home. Why can't he just leave me alone? Next thing
he'll be doing is knocking on my door, and-
(Knock knock). "Manualla?" He came in without even asking if it was
okay, as usual. God, he thinks it's his right to barge in on me. What
if I'd been naked or something?
I turn on my fake smile. "Hello, Father."
He didn't ask me how my day was. He didn't even say "hello". He said
his usual line: "Do you have your homework done yet?"
I cringe. Urg. This was what I'd been dreading. He hates it when I
don't have my homework done when he gets home. Mom had been gone when
I'd come home, so I'd spent some time on the Internet. So I didn't have
my stupid homework done.
"I've been working on it all afternoon, Father," I lie. "But I just
have to-"
"Manualla," Father said sternly. "You know what we talked about. I ex-
pect you to get your homework done every day before dinner."
"I know, Father, but-"
"No excuses, young lady." He sighed. "Well, dinner is ready. Eat, then
get right back to work."
"Yes, sir," I mumbled, and followed him out of the room.
Why was he being like this? All that year, he'd become so...
controlling. I had to show him my homework every day, I could only
watch TV for a half hour every night, and I couldn't date. When I'd
gone on the date with Craig, I'd lied and said I was spending the night
at Emma's. Only after calling Ms. Nelson and talking her ear off for an
hour did he allow me to go. And he would have killed me if he found out
about the dance Emma and I crashed.
He'd always been so fun before this year. He would take me out to ice
cream instead of making me do my homework...perfectly. Nothing is diff-
erent in his life to make him act this way, and I've done nothing to
make him not trust me.
We make it to the dinner table. Mama has set the table, and we sit
down to a quiet dinner. I remembered the old days, when we'd all talk
and laugh the whole time. Now...it's horrible.
I wonder if Mama and Father are having problems. They never fight, and
they always have their "private time" in the parlor in the evening just
like before. Mama won't talk to me about it...in fact, she won't talk
to me about anything, about Father's controlling behavior or anything.
Not that it was too weird, not as weird as how Father was acting: I've
never been very close to Mama, anyway.
Mama was serving her specialty, echiladas. There were refried beans
and rice on the side. Usually, I dig into this kind of meal: it's my
favorite. But tonight, I noticed my parents as they ate. My mother ate
tiny, careful bites, while my father dug in like I usually do. I was
disgusted by it, the way that he bent close to his plate and shoveled
the food into his mouth. Does he even have time to taste it? I hope I
don't eat like that!
I was hit with a sudden thought: they don't even notice me! They
didn't even notice that I wasn't eatting. So I stood up. "I think I'll
eat a little later. I should really finish my homework."
They looked up. Father seemed to approve: I guess "family time" isn't
very important to him. Mama offered to put the plate in the fridge for
me, but I said I would and went into the kitchen. I carefully scraped
my dinner in the garbage and covered it with over garbage so they
wouldn't notice. Then I went upstairs in triumph.
Fahter could control my curfew, and when I do my homework. But he
couldn't do anything about my eatting!
Please read and review. Thanks.