Teenage rebellion they called it.

And maybe they were right, Perhaps I was rebelling, But against what, They didn't know. But that's just it, See. They never know, They never understand. That is the way it had always been and by the looks of it, It was the way things would continue to be. I was of little importance in the great scheme of things. Mother had larger issues and my father buried himself in his work, quite literally.

But still, When they did manage to get their heads out of the sand for a few moments and take note of the child they created, it was usually to judge. I was strange, an oddity, I wasn't like the girls that went to school with me. Vivian couldn't seem to get her head around it, and though she tried once or twice to be understanding, She always shrugged and decided it was a stage, something I would grow out of soon enough. One day I would wake up, Wear my hair in a twist maybe, buy a pretty dress, put on those pretty shoes she insisted on purchasing for me. I'd start making friends, going to drive-ins and luncheons with the other girls...It was a nice fantasy, But it was just that, a fantasy for my mother.

A soft sigh escapes my lips as I turn over in bed, long honey brown hair falling across the white downy pillows. It was another day, another day I would have to endure. I knew the ritual already, It never changed or faltered and for that, I guess I should be happy, It was never anything different or unexpected. It was a relief to know my tormentors lacked genuine creativity.

I would walk in, past the large wooden doors of my high-school and the others would stop; it was always interesting to me that they could stop whatever they were doing, no matter what it is, to see me stroll in through those godforsaken doors.

Then the whispers would start, the looks half hidden behind texts books. But I heard them, always. They whispered about my hair, long and pin straight and always worn down. They whispered about my clothes and my lack of 'style'.

"Why does she wear those frumpy dresses?"

"Does she make them herself?"

"She looks like my crazy aunt, Probably smells like her too."

I should have been given an award really, Like those famous actresses on the television. For pretending not to hear. But I did hear, every single petty insult.

As far as days went, that Friday was greatly uneventful, I woke up, had breakfast at the table with my father, who had his face hidden behind a newspaper and then went to school. Luckily for me, the mutterings were no more vicious than any other day, so I handled myself well. When I got home, though, was when things began to change.

I got home and found my mother and father seated at the kitchen table, softly discussing among themselves. This in itself should have been a warning, But I just shrugged it off as I did most everything else and continued up to my bedroom, school bag hanging precariously on my shoulder.

"Violet, Sweetie. Please come down for a moment, your father and I would like to have a talk."

That stopped me dead in my tracks. One foot was suspended in mid air, about to land on the last step that would leave me on the second floor. If I was less coordinated, I would have missed the step completely and maybe fallen down the stairs, possibly breaking my neck, But a girl can only dream.

Without a word, I dropped my bag onto the step and made my descent back down, a solemn and curious look plastered across my pale features. My mother sighed softly upon seeing the dark circles that now ring my eyes, probably realizing she hadn't actually looked into her daughters face in days.

"Sit, Violet. And don't look so upset, this talk won't kill you."

Another sigh escapes my lips as I take a seat across from them, that's my only method of communication these days, sighs and noncommittal shrugs. Luckily for me, they could pretty much be perceived however the other person wants, so I didn't have to work too hard, they automatically believed what they wanted.

"Violet."

My father had that tone, the tone he used with his patients, soft and careful as if he was afraid I would jump in fear at even the slightest raise of voice.

"Your mother and I have come to a decision. We've decided that it's in your best interest to get a summer job. Nothing too serious, But something to keep you occupied and busy in the summer time. Many of the girls are doing it nowadays and we think it would be beneficial for you, in meeting people, since school has seemed to have no effect."

A job? Work? These words were completely foreign to me, and not that I hadn't heard them before, Because of course, I had, countless times. But in regards to me, my life, it was something that would never have been considered. Now, I just had to figure out how I felt about the whole notion.

"Where..?" My words were soft, and I think I was just as surprised to hear them as my parents seemed to be.

"Well.I have an old friend, we've known each other for years and he runs a station in town, well his nephew Kit runs it now, But Bill still oversees it. It's not a job at an office, But it's fine work and for you..I think it would be dandy."

For me, it would be dandy? What was that supposed to mean? That I wasn't good enough to sit behind a desk as a secretary, But I could sit behind the counter at a gasoline station?

"When do I start..?"

My words were curt, cold, my father's last words still ringing in my ears.

"Well...This weekend actually. And Bill says that if all works out..you can get more days if you need them. "

Nodding I stood, turning around without another word. That was the most they'd be getting out of me, at least for a solid week.