The other night, you were laughing and smiling. We were celebrating the streak I'd been having. No grades lower than a B+ for the whole month. News for a D average student. You looked at me with a grin on your face, and, obviously referring to the small quiz I had the next day - not even worth worrying about - you said, "If you fail tomorrow's quiz, I'll go the whole nine yards and not buy you that shirt you wanted!" You were being openly sarcastic. I really wanted that shirt - bright blue, showed the midriff, low cut and skin-tight.
But I could really care less about it now - I'd rather have back that smile, in place of that condescending smirk you've been wearing since I showed you the grade I got on my quiz. Not even one problem right. You sneered at me. "I was kidding. I didn't mean it literally." I was about to tell you I hadn't been trying to fail. Somehow, I was sure you already knew. "God, why can't you be like a normal C+ teenager? You're an idiot."
I knew you were drunk, but the words still cut deeply. So, the other morning, when you called over your shoulder, "Get at least a C- on this coming test and I'll take you to the mall to spend your birthday money," I paused before getting out my textbooks to study.
And I finally decided that there was no chance that I'd be going to the mall with you.
So, maybe, I'd go with my friends instead, buy that skimpy shirt I've wanted but you've disapproved of.
And maybe I'd drink before the legal age, or consider smoking and doing drugs even though you've told me countless times of why they're bad.
And maybe I'll stop consulting you on any of the decisions in my life, minor or major.
After all -
that's what C+ average,
non-idiotic,
not disappointing,
normal teenagers do.
I mean, that's what you want me to be.
Right?