To be an outsider is to be someone who doesn't physically or emotionally fit into a group. Such an idea would have been my definition of an outsider years ago, but now that I look back to my days of being both young and stupid- or just not really understanding what people deal with day after day- I know that it is not true. Being an outsider means more than that; it means a possibility life or death.
When I had been living life like any other normal teenager, I wouldn't have even questioned such things. I most likely wouldn't have seen the point. I wouldn't have thought of such a topic back when my head was filled with worries about school, who my mother was dating now, if I could go to a certain someone's party, or even if was I ever going to pass this time of complete trouble. I think that is what being normal does to you: you're never fully satisfied with what you have until you lose something or someone that means so much to you. Then all those little problems just seem so stupid.
When my mother had died a few days before my 17th birthday I was scared. I think it was the fact that she wouldn't be there doing what she always did that scared me the most. Knowing I was never going to hear her complain about the state of my room; the fact that I had failed another test or assignment. All those little annoying things she would do that I hated yet wished I could hear now.
It's strange how life is just peachy one moment. You're going to school, chatting with your friends, trying to stay awake during class and coming home at the end of another school day to a mother that loves you more than anything… even though she's a bit of a nagging bitch at times. Then the shit hits the fan, and it's 'see ya' to that entire sweet life of bliss.
I would kill just to go back to how it was. It was just not the same. Not anymore. But then again, who wants to spend their 17th birthday at the home of the person that had charge over their case? Oh, wait that was me. I guess now I'm just the most annoying person on the planet. I could take a guess and say it's just my way of dealing with everything, which is quite the truth, my friend.
My mother was Cassandra Lena Rider, a woman who was married at the age nineteen then divorced at the age of twenty-two. She had a good career possibility for the near future: being the manger of Royals and Generals National Bank. She was like a beautiful angel to me (not that I ever would have, nor did I, admit such a thing to her. Or anyone else for that matter).
Yet, even with such a beautiful, sweet, loving creature for a mother, I had a cruel nature. I was like the spawn of the Lord of Demons himself with a visage much like my mother's, just a younger version, and blonde hair. Well, it used to be blonde. I had developed a habit of streaking my hair all over with purple, pink, blue and black dye. It was wearing off now and I found that it was returning to its 'sunshine' blonde again, as my mother would call it.
Being a rebellious, bitchy teenager with continuous hair color morphs just didn't feel good anymore. I had begun it to annoy her, but now that she was gone, it was more like all that effort of being annoying to her seemed like a waste of my time. Hell, when I could have been helping her or asking how her day had gone, I was being a little snobbish cunt. And what did she do? She would talk to me, ask how my day went, and try to create conversation! I guess this was my wake up call. But I think would have preferred not learning any lesson and just kept her around.
My name was Serena Rider-Tisdale. Never say it fast or continuously, for you shall find it both an irritation and a pointless, thankless task. Much like my hair color changes, right? It was my mother's doing to call me it. When she had divorced my father only seven or six months before I was born, she decided to use both her maiden name and my father's last night; and behold Rider-Tisdale was created.
My father, Aaron Tisdale (as it says on my birth certificate), was only a few years older than my mother. I have never met him and I hopefully never will. From what I knew, he was some drunk who lived out in the middle of some desert with ownership of a cheap gas station. I could almost picture my mother yelling at him for his alcoholic tendencies; she hated that crap, and apparently he loved it.
But onto some of the things she did in my life. Those things that make you pissed at your mother, but they also make you love her more. Yeah, you know exactly what I'm talking about.
Whenever I would sneak out to a party, I would have needed to have a shower immediately upon arriving home. And of course, after that, spray enough deodorant to kill a horse on myself to mask the scent of the alcohol. Mom could smell it a mile away, I was sure of it. Because as soon as I reached the driveway, she would be standing on the front porch with her arms crossed and an evil 'you-are-in-so-much-trouble-missy' smile on her face. So I only twice got away with it twice.
First time she had picked up the smell of alcohol on me was when I had gone to my best friend Lily's sixteenth birthday. I was fifteen at the time, but I still can't understand why she wouldn't let me go. Sure there was alcohol there, but Lily's parent where there; and hey, they made sure it wasn't some drunken gangbang or something of the sort. But because it was my first time at a 'supposed to be over 21 party', she was a bit pissed. I told her that I hadn't drunk any of it, which was a lie, so she let me off the hook; that one was easy…ish.
The second time was at some random party I heard about from a couple of my friends. Once again, there were parents there, so nothing too horrible happened. I made lot of very cool friends there, though I'm not in contact with anymore. I can't even remember how I fooled mom then, but apparently it worked, because I'm still alive, right? Yeah, the good old days when I was only worrying about being at the best party or something stupid of the sort. I miss them now, even if they didn't mean much in the long run.
When my mother died in an armed bank robbery gone wrong, I had been so mad and quite surprised. Mad at those pompous assholes that thought it would be a good idea to rob the bank my mom worked at. Surprised that something I never dreamed would happen to me actually happened to me. I had always told myself that she would never be killed, that she would just stay alive forever and annoy me till my own funeral. But I guess things are never like that, no matter how much you wish or hope they would.
When my mother's funeral was at a close, a man in black was all, 'I'm so very sorry for your loss'. Fuck. It made me want to gag. Couldn't he have just kept his fucking mouth shut if he had nothing non-cliché to say?! It was like listening to those infuriatingly repetitive funeral advertisements that would have the pick-up line 'Because we care' shoved at the end of it as if it matters to the people. Or one of those court case dramas where they take the child of the deceased away to someone they don't even know just to be abused. At least that's what he looked like to me.
I replied in the most dignified way that any person in my situation would; with good, clean sarcastic bluntness. "That's nice isn't it? 'I'm so sorry for your loss, miss'… like hell you are. You didn't even know my mother, you bastard. You're just here to make yourself feel better for doing something horrible to a girl that just lost her mom. Now what exactly do you want to talk about, sir?" I had growled at him when he had tried to speak in the middle of my little tirade.
"Well, Miss Rider-Tisdale, I am in charge of this case." He swallowed dryly when I just stared angrily at him, "And you'll need a legal guardian until you're of legal age."
"Get to the point, mister. I know what you're talking about. You're just telling me the same shit that I've seen in movies. Telling me I have nowhere to live because I'm underage… so in result you're going to stick me with someone that couldn't care less about me. Then you'll run home and thank the Good Lord Himself that you never had to be in my situation." I hissed at him.
I was angry. It was bad enough that my mother had died and some random asshole had actually spoken my mother given last name, but now he and his cronies were going to take my home away. I could just tell by the look on the guy's face that he was afraid. Good, he should have been; I was never messed with by anyone, and nobody was ever going to.
"You have your facts straight, I see," Another man in black stood behind the first. He was older than the first, seeming to be more used to teenagers blowing up at the injustice thrown their way. Even with my glare now turned upon him, he did not falter, "But Laurent here is telling the truth, just like those 'movies' you have watched. But you do have one problem with your idea about what we plan to do with you."
That was a bit puzzling… how could I have gotten that wrong? From all the information my mother had fed me over the years, the only person related to me that I could legally go to was my father, and he didn't seem to care enough about me to even visit. So it had to be somebody that didn't care. Didn't it?
"So… you're saying that somebody actually cares about me?" I let a skeptical, almost demonic laugh flow from my lips before returning to the matter at hand, "You two are so full of bull shit." Though I sounded beyond pissed off at them, and was gaining myself and the two men a good amount of uncomfortable glances from the surrounding funeral-goers, I was elated to think that somebody might actually care about me enough to take me in… a friend maybe?
"Yes," The Laurence guy answered in a much stronger tone than before, probably sensing my extreme happiness at the prospect, "Your father does care. He has offered to take you in as the daughter to him you are, and take care of you until you want to leave his parental influence."
"Any hidden conditions, shit head?"
Laurence cast an uneasy glance at his partner-in-crime and added that 'one hidden condition'. "Your father has told us that he will not come up here to be your parent, but that you must go down to New Mexico to live with him."
His older partner sensed my impending outrage and nipped it at the bud with one short statement. "This set up was, is, and forever shall be non-negotiable. Within a week's time, you will be down in New Mexico with your father, no arguments had; do I make myself clear?"
Now it was my turn to be intimidated. Turning my eyes to the ground with a deep sigh, I nodded my reluctant consent to such an absurd development. So now I was going to be shoved down in the middle of nowhere with an alcoholic I didn't know a thing about, to a place where I was sure there was bound to not even be real running water or a telephone. Damn great. I turned away from the two men and made my way to my friend and her car for my ride home. Yeah… just great.
And thats a wrap. This is the first chapter of the remake of this story. I hope its good because both myself and Lorescien slaved over this. LOL. Okay I hope you all enjoy this retake and this time around