Stuck-up Beauty, Reformed Beast, by Raberba girl
Part 2 (Motoko)
I storm out of the house, screaming to my hag of a mother that everything is her fault. The door slams shut before I can hear her reply - which is a good thing, since one more word from her would have made me explode with rage.
I stampede down the street, not really knowing where I am going, and certainly not caring. I am so, so furious. I hate talking to my mother, and we always seem to get into fights over the stupidest things. This time it was because she found out that my grades are dropping. Not a lot, mind you, but they're not top scores anymore.
Sometimes I wonder why I even bother to come back on vacations. The best thing about college is that Mother isn't there.
I walk/stomp for a while, trying to work off some of my anger. I note vaguely that this is more or less the same route I used to take to my old high school.
I slam to a stop when I see a vendor selling ice cream. No. No, Motoko, don't you dare, you know how hard you work to keep this figure. No, no, no, no...
The word is still chanting through my head, even as I step ever closer to the vendor.
"Hello, ma'am. How may I help you?"
He's so bright, so happy, so expectant, this evil seller of cow's-milk-and-cream.
"Strawberry," I snap at him. "Hurry up! I want to kill something."
Oops. That last statement slipped out without permission.
The man looks startled, but then smiles bravely and dishes up a cone. I hurl some money and yell at him to "Keep the" un-ladylike word "change." Then I march away, savagely licking at the ice-cold creaminess.
The first few tastes are wonderful. Lovely sugary ice, sliding over my tongue and down my throat. But then my pleasure evaporates, along with my anger. My steps turn slow and plodding.
I've reached the school. 'Why not?' I think, and slowly make my way toward it. I enter the familiar courtyard, my eyes softening as they sweep over the well-known arrangement of trees and benches. The main building looms up over me, the clock staring out at the top like a face. I remember this place so well.
I sit down on a bench and cry, my half-finished ice cream still held in one hand.
to be continued...