Disclaimer: Don't own Horizon, don't sue. Kat owns me. All bow to the Kat.
Two days later, Kataya stood in the doorway of her mother's home. Her mother despised her smoking habit, and demanded that she smoke outside. At least, in her presence, Kat thought, smirking.
"You can't just stand there and act like nothing's gone wrong! You were arrested, for heaven's sake!" Her mother ranted on, "you're lucky that nice man didn't press charges, you're extremely lucky that the bike wasn't damaged! You better thank Greg for paying your bail and your fines! And put that cigarette out, I don't want smoke in here. I've guests coming over."
Kat inhaled the cigarette smoke, and muttered out, "you don't care about me," and sighed loudly. "Mother, the guests aren't coming until tomorrow. Besides, you don't have jurisdiction over me, I'm not in the house."
"I don't care. Put that out, now." When her mother got that tone of voice, anyone in hearing range trembled without knowing why. Kat wasn't moved; she had lived with her mother for sixteen years and had a hide thicker than a bear. She watched as her mother grabbed a large, black duffel bag from the couch, and dropped it by the door.
"Put it out!"
"Well, I'm done anyway," Kat said, as she flicked it away. Then she asked, "what's in the bag?" as she stepped into the house and closed the door.
"Your clothes," her mother replied.
Kat was beweildered, "you're kicking me out? Cool."
"Oh, come on, life here ain't that bad!" Her mother scoffed, tossing back her dirty blond hair. For a moment, it was like her mother had come back, from before her father died, before she remarried. It made a poignant pang in her heart, and Kat smiled, which was rare.
Her mother walked into the kitchen and came out into the hallway with a pamphlet in her hand. She extended her arm, and handed it to her daughter. Kat took it and glanced at it.
Realization dawned on Kat's face, following puzzlement and surprise. Then anger set in.
"You're taking me to Horizon?" She asked in disbelief.
"It's for the best," her mother said.
"Like hell it is!" She screamed, "just because you don't want me to screw up your perfect life doesn't mean that you can screw up mine!"
"Your life is perfect?" her mother asked, incredulous. "You call underage drinking, theft and heaven knows what else you've been doing, perfect?"
"You call betraying dad's memory by marrying some rich bastard before he's even cold in the ground perfect?!" Kat shot back.
"It's not like that, I love him!" Her mother protested.
"Oh God!" Kat clamped her hands over her ears, "you make me sick!" She ran up the stairs to her room and locked the door. She ransacked her room, looking for her stash. The posters on the wall covered up every inch of the plain white paint, depicting bands like NOFX, Nirvana, and KoRn. She grabbed her marijuana and lit up. Korn's Got the Life blared out from her headphones around her neck, as she put her cd player in her sweater pocket.
The determined knock on the door alerted her to her mother's steely resolve. Her mother was a stubborn woman; Kat got her own stubborness from her.
"I'm getting my good clothes. You didn't pack the stuff I like," she claimed as she pulled opened her drawers. If she was right, then all her mother packed were her preppy "show" clothes for when guests came over. She spotted her favourite black sweater with Korn in small white print across the front, and her black ripped jeans. She was right.
"Let me in, Kataya Eloise Doyle."
Kat hadn't wanted to lose her father's name when her mother remarried, and refused Greg's offer of adoption. As a result, she and her biological mother had different last names. And whenever her mother said her full name, it meant that she was seriously ticked.
Kat grabbed all of her favourite clothes, and dumped them in a duffel bag she kept in the walk in closet. Grabbing extra batteries for her cd player, she put them in her jeans pocket.
"Katay--" her mother stopped as Kat turned the lock, and wrenched the door open.
"Yeesh. Would it kill you to take me for my word. I'm only packing my clothes."
"And smoking. It smells funny," her mother's lips were in a thin line. She was holding on to her temper with a short leash that strained to break free.
"It's not real tobacco," she lied, "it's cloves, totally harmless."
Her mother only looked at her sideways, as though she knew Kataya had lied, only she wasn't sure what the lie was.
"Will you turn the... music... down?" Kat smirked, yeah, it's music, mom. Then her mother's eyes widened, "did that man just say... that?" Her mother had the ears of a hawk.
Kat smirked, turning off the music. "Are you going to apologize and say that you're not taking me to Horizon after all?"
Her mother glared, "no. Nice try, but you're still going."
"Damn."
Her mother stared at her reproachfully for the language, then looked around. "You know, some of these posters are... Well." Her disdain was apparent, "why don't you have your trophies in here?"
"Mom," Kat groaned, for this was a subject that was often debated over, usually ending in shouting matches. Kat was tall. One of the tallest girls in class, whenever she bothered to go to school. She used to be an accomplished track and field runner, and had trophies and medallions, which had cluttered her room, at their old house. Before her dad had died. Now, they had taken up residence in several boxes in the garage. In their place: cigarettes and drugs.
"I just don't understand why you just stopped running. You loved running."
"I still run, mother."
"Yes. From the cops."
"Ouch. I'm wounded."
"Get your fanny in the car, we have two hours worth of driving to do."
"Joy," Kat said, sarcastically.
Two days later, Kataya stood in the doorway of her mother's home. Her mother despised her smoking habit, and demanded that she smoke outside. At least, in her presence, Kat thought, smirking.
"You can't just stand there and act like nothing's gone wrong! You were arrested, for heaven's sake!" Her mother ranted on, "you're lucky that nice man didn't press charges, you're extremely lucky that the bike wasn't damaged! You better thank Greg for paying your bail and your fines! And put that cigarette out, I don't want smoke in here. I've guests coming over."
Kat inhaled the cigarette smoke, and muttered out, "you don't care about me," and sighed loudly. "Mother, the guests aren't coming until tomorrow. Besides, you don't have jurisdiction over me, I'm not in the house."
"I don't care. Put that out, now." When her mother got that tone of voice, anyone in hearing range trembled without knowing why. Kat wasn't moved; she had lived with her mother for sixteen years and had a hide thicker than a bear. She watched as her mother grabbed a large, black duffel bag from the couch, and dropped it by the door.
"Put it out!"
"Well, I'm done anyway," Kat said, as she flicked it away. Then she asked, "what's in the bag?" as she stepped into the house and closed the door.
"Your clothes," her mother replied.
Kat was beweildered, "you're kicking me out? Cool."
"Oh, come on, life here ain't that bad!" Her mother scoffed, tossing back her dirty blond hair. For a moment, it was like her mother had come back, from before her father died, before she remarried. It made a poignant pang in her heart, and Kat smiled, which was rare.
Her mother walked into the kitchen and came out into the hallway with a pamphlet in her hand. She extended her arm, and handed it to her daughter. Kat took it and glanced at it.
Realization dawned on Kat's face, following puzzlement and surprise. Then anger set in.
"You're taking me to Horizon?" She asked in disbelief.
"It's for the best," her mother said.
"Like hell it is!" She screamed, "just because you don't want me to screw up your perfect life doesn't mean that you can screw up mine!"
"Your life is perfect?" her mother asked, incredulous. "You call underage drinking, theft and heaven knows what else you've been doing, perfect?"
"You call betraying dad's memory by marrying some rich bastard before he's even cold in the ground perfect?!" Kat shot back.
"It's not like that, I love him!" Her mother protested.
"Oh God!" Kat clamped her hands over her ears, "you make me sick!" She ran up the stairs to her room and locked the door. She ransacked her room, looking for her stash. The posters on the wall covered up every inch of the plain white paint, depicting bands like NOFX, Nirvana, and KoRn. She grabbed her marijuana and lit up. Korn's Got the Life blared out from her headphones around her neck, as she put her cd player in her sweater pocket.
The determined knock on the door alerted her to her mother's steely resolve. Her mother was a stubborn woman; Kat got her own stubborness from her.
"I'm getting my good clothes. You didn't pack the stuff I like," she claimed as she pulled opened her drawers. If she was right, then all her mother packed were her preppy "show" clothes for when guests came over. She spotted her favourite black sweater with Korn in small white print across the front, and her black ripped jeans. She was right.
"Let me in, Kataya Eloise Doyle."
Kat hadn't wanted to lose her father's name when her mother remarried, and refused Greg's offer of adoption. As a result, she and her biological mother had different last names. And whenever her mother said her full name, it meant that she was seriously ticked.
Kat grabbed all of her favourite clothes, and dumped them in a duffel bag she kept in the walk in closet. Grabbing extra batteries for her cd player, she put them in her jeans pocket.
"Katay--" her mother stopped as Kat turned the lock, and wrenched the door open.
"Yeesh. Would it kill you to take me for my word. I'm only packing my clothes."
"And smoking. It smells funny," her mother's lips were in a thin line. She was holding on to her temper with a short leash that strained to break free.
"It's not real tobacco," she lied, "it's cloves, totally harmless."
Her mother only looked at her sideways, as though she knew Kataya had lied, only she wasn't sure what the lie was.
"Will you turn the... music... down?" Kat smirked, yeah, it's music, mom. Then her mother's eyes widened, "did that man just say... that?" Her mother had the ears of a hawk.
Kat smirked, turning off the music. "Are you going to apologize and say that you're not taking me to Horizon after all?"
Her mother glared, "no. Nice try, but you're still going."
"Damn."
Her mother stared at her reproachfully for the language, then looked around. "You know, some of these posters are... Well." Her disdain was apparent, "why don't you have your trophies in here?"
"Mom," Kat groaned, for this was a subject that was often debated over, usually ending in shouting matches. Kat was tall. One of the tallest girls in class, whenever she bothered to go to school. She used to be an accomplished track and field runner, and had trophies and medallions, which had cluttered her room, at their old house. Before her dad had died. Now, they had taken up residence in several boxes in the garage. In their place: cigarettes and drugs.
"I just don't understand why you just stopped running. You loved running."
"I still run, mother."
"Yes. From the cops."
"Ouch. I'm wounded."
"Get your fanny in the car, we have two hours worth of driving to do."
"Joy," Kat said, sarcastically.
