"How was school today?"

Played hooky. "Fine."

"Learn anything new?"

Cigarettes are up to six bucks a pack. That sure is something, isn't it, mom? "No."

"Well, you had to have learned something..."

Changed the subject. "Where's dad?"

My mother froze, and hellish silence rang through the house. The fading, weak lightbulb that swung low above our kitchen table hummed quietly as the sound of hearts beating and noses breathing and crickets chirping played a strange symphony.

Her softened, lime-green eyes flickered, and I swore I saw the little pink hairs on the back of her neck stand on-end. You freaking coward. "Your father had to go out of town," she explained after a while. "He was called out on some sort of emergency."

I huffed. Picked at my potatoes like they were alive. Dinner at the Roses' house. "It's always an emergency," I complained uselessly, shoving a forkful of food into my mouth.

"Now," mom protested, glaring at me as sternly as her broken spirit would allow. "That is no way to talk about your father."

Oh, God. "Yeah."

"No, not 'yeah.' Maria, I don't believe you understand the situation." Amy Rose sat up in her seat, put her silverware down, and tried to explain to me how much of a freaking saint dad was. Newsflash, mom. Angels fall, too.

"Mom, I get it," I insisted, looking away and pretending to be interested in the shape of my butter knife. The curves of the blade reflected the dying light of the ceiling-lamp perfectly, casting a garish orange-yellow ball of light onto the sharpened end. My purple eyes stared back at me in the metallic sheen. The blackened one puffed and swelled.

"I don't think you do, young lady," she was still talking. Still trying to force-feed me lies. "Your father is the provider for us, you know. If he didn't go to work every day like he does, where would be then?"

Don't make me answer.

"Maria, where would we be?"

Stop trying to convince me to love him.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you."

Look at me.

My heart was racing. Blood pounding in my skull. Please.

"Maria? Are you even listening?"

I said... look at me.

My palms glistened with cold sweat. Fingers trembled uncontrollably. Please just leave me alone.

"Look at me."

Look at me, goddamn it!

I snapped. In a moment of pure, unbridled fury, I stood violently from the table, knocking my chair over and probably breaking one of the legs as a wooden crack rang in my ears. The plate was in my hands without my even thinking about it. Aimed for her head. Some part of me told me she was my mother and made me miss. Hit the wall behind her. Smash.

Shattering ceramic. Breaking drywall. Cragged, jagged bolts of black lightning spread like bleeding ink. World turned to shit.

She was on my ass almost immediately. "Maria!" she shrilled.

There were tears in my eyes. Weakness. Agony. Why don't you see it? "He's a bastard."

"Do not use that kind of language in this house!" she commanded.

Broken voice. Little girl. Damn puberty to hell. "He hates me." He hates us.

Her face warped from shock to wonder. "Your father does not hate you. He loves you very much-..."

"Look!" I screamed. Slammed my hands on the table. Sent forks and spoons tumbling to the floor. "Look at me!"

I jabbed my finger towards my face. Pointed at the eye he had chosen. "Is this love? Is it?" I cried, begging for an answer. "Freakin' bullshit!"

No thinking. Just yelling. Venting. Crying. I yanked my shirt over my head and threw it away, exposing my body to my mother. Bruises. Blue and black and purple. "Is this love?" I demanded, pointing to each one individually. "Or this? Maybe that one? How about that one?"

There was fear in her eyes. Terror amidst the sea of placid green. No reply.

"Answer me, damn it!" I stormed towards her and snatched her hand away. Forced her to feel the places where he hit me. It hurts, mommy.

Tears trickled down her face. Silent.

"Answer me!" Make it stop hurting.

Sobbing. Weeping like a child. Like a freakin' kid. Mommies aren't supposed to cry.

"Goddamn it!" I cried with her. "Damn it, you can't cry. That's not how it works..." I buried my face in her shoulder. Felt her arms wrap around my topless form. Cold and alien. "... you're not the one that's supposed to cry. I'm supposed to... to..."

Hot tears like molten lava. Headache from hell. She shushed me, told me sweet and impossible lies. "It's alright. It's okay. Everything will be okay."

I bawled with her because I knew none of it was true. Just another giant lie.

...

The loud, clapping noise of sneakers smacking hardwood flooring echoed through the gymnasium like gunshots. Sitting in the corner, pretending I sprained my ankle, the rest of the class ran laps around and around and around like a bunch of freakin' idiots.

Bored out of my skull, I decided to play a little game I called 'Guess that Stereotype.' Five large hedgehogs and dogs barreled past me, sprinting their laps with the greatest of ease. Two of them laughed and joked, and the other three passed a basketball between themselves. Jocks.

A few kids jogged along behind them, pushing their glasses up onto their noses and taking deep, sometimes uneven breaths through their mouths. Geeks.

About six hedgehogs walked by me nonchalantly, gossiping and bragging about their latest exploits. What dress they just bought. Who was sucking whose dick. Whose dick they recently sucked. Bitches.

The circus ringleader, a makeup-painted piece of plastic called Mackenzie, shot a look at me as she passed. Then she snickered and proceeded to spread rumors about me as she walked, and all of her little friends laughed with her. I smiled as they went, flashing my favorite finger behind their backs.

"Mari-... Maria?"

The sound of a thickly accented voice called me to look up, and I saw a black cat with lusciously smooth black fur and beautifully milk-white ears. Her indigo eyes watched me shyly. "May I... sit with you?"

I scooted to my right and made room. "Sure. And it's Ria."

Yolanda, the school's very first French exchange student, smiled at me with her perfect teeth and sat down beside me. "Thank you," she said in that accent any smart girl would die for. Or maybe I'm just jealous. "Ria."

I sighed and leaned my head back, resting it against the cool brick behind me. "God," I thought aloud, "I could really go for a smoke."

Yolanda looked at me curiously. "Smoke?" she questioned innocently.

"Nothing," I told her.

She nodded and stared off into the distance with me. It seems to be a common pastime that my friends and I share. Zoning-out and forgetting it all.

"Alright, class!" coach suddenly called from the other end of the gym. "We're headin' down to the weight-room. Let's go!"

I stood and stretched my legs, making sure to fake-limp as I went. Yolanda and I brought up the rear of the class, hanging back and away from the crowd.

Mackenzie saw us and beckoned to us mockingly, "Hey, come on you two, let's work out!" Then she turned to her friends when we didn't respond. "God knows they need it."

I groaned as we entered the room and was assaulted with the stench of sweat. "Jesus," I whispered to my friend as we wandered inside. "What a bitch."

Yolanda laughed even though I was fairly certain she didn't know what I meant. Little did I know that she was about to surprise me. Hell, she was about to scare the shit out of me is more like it.