Seth's point of view :
God, I can't believe I'm awake this early, it's unnatural for a teenager to be awake at such an ungodly hour, It's not even a double digit time yet. But hey, my bladder needs emptying, and I'm starving, as usual, so I'll have to break the teenage commandment of not rising before midday just this once ! It's probably the intense hunger pangs that woke me, and all the eating I've been doing isn't even helping me gain weight, which might help alleviate some of the comments I get at school from the water polo team. They're a charming bunch, truly they are. They suggest vocations like fireman's pole (on account of my beanpole-esque proportions) or call me Death-Breath-Seth (how mature, nice to see they've progressed from their first grade humour), Scrawny-Seth, Comic Freak, and other generally uninventive and totally stupid nicknames. Dad always says that people who call you things like that don't deserve a response, that it's stooping to their level, and that if I ignore it, they'll find another target. However, 7 years on, they still haven't found one, and, like I said, their insults haven't changed much. Unfortunately, they'vve also discovered some games they like to play with me, the main ones being 'Let's all pee in Cohen's shoes » and « Let's stuff Cohen in a locker ». I'm not really a fan, to be honest. They also call me queer, which I think I know the meaning of, but I'm not sure and I can't ask a teacher or the parental units, as it would get them asking all sorts of awkward questions that are really none of their business. Mom and Dad, especially Dad, would go into Mega Fuss Mode and I just don't want to go through that again. Plus, they've got more important stuff on their mind, I think they might be getting a divorce, as they're both working like maniacs on various projects and court cases, and when they are home, they're at eachother's throats or barely speaking to eachother. That's why I don't understand their decision to make me stay here, instead of letting me go to the awesome East Coast boarding school. They'd be able to talk or argue as loudly as they wanted if they didn't have a pathetic, over-sensitive teenager in the house, especially one who has a tendancy to say the wrong thing in an attempt to defuse the situation, but just makes things worse. And it's not like the fees would be a problem, as Mom's the richest woman for miles around.
They say I'm not mature enough to leave home yet, but if they won't let me out of their sight for five minutes, as if I was a toddler or something, how am I supposed to grow up? If they stopped treating me like I was five years old and let me have some semblance of independance, maybe I wouldn't be such a friendless pathetic loser. I wish we'd never moved here, but they won't even listen to my attempts to get them to move back to Berkeley anymore, it's like they're doing that little kid thing where they think if they shut their eyes and put their fingers in their ears and shout 'Lalalala, I'm not listening', I'll go away, and they have the gall to call me immature ! Obviously, they don't actually say I'm immature to my face, they use more polite terminology, like innocent and naive, but I know what they really mean by it, I'm not stupid.
I must be such an embarrassment to them both, as I have a tendancy to ramble on about crap in awkward social situations which ends up with the recipient of my babble giving me a funny look and stepping away, then avoiding me all night. It's especially bad at the many Newport social events I'm forced to attend by Mom, as seeing as she's the Queen Bee of the Newpsies, and therefore chief co-ordinator of them, and she likes to show that we're a strong family unit, or something- basically, if Dad and I don't go, their marriage is on the rocks and I'm a spoilt teenager, and it gives them gossip material for months. Dad says he hates these events and the people who go there, but I hear him talking to them, using the Cohen charm that I haven't inherited. He always seems to know just what to say, he always makes people laugh and never gets flustered. Apparently we're a lot alike, but I can't see it myself, it's just damned lies that people say so I don't feel so bad about myself.
Dad has suddenly decided that it is his mission in life to know about every single detail of my goings on, and it's just so frustrating, it makes me want to scream sometimes ! He's always asking if he can look at my sketches, like he cares, but really it's just to check that I'm still drawing normal things, I reckon, he needs to know that I'm not on drugs or something. Seeing as I've never actually even held a lit cigarette in my hands, how exactly would I be doing drugs ? I mean, I've only had the lecture from the parents about drugs, alcohol and peer pressure about 10 thousand times in the last few months, don't they realise I'm a freak that doesn't hang around with his peer group, or with anyone, for that matter, so there's no pressure to give way to ? Dad's always on my case about having friends over, he says I could even have a sleepover, and me and my hypothetical friends could stay up late and crash in the lounge, if we'd like to. My Dad's so lame sometimes, I mean, no-one has had a sleepover for well over two years now, and if he knew the first thing about me, my taste in movies runs on the unknown side of obscure, definitely not sleepover material.
Having noted my absence of friends, Dad tries to fill the role, he's always offering to hang out with me, he's even tried to manipulate the Playstation controls but absolutely bombed, so he just gave up, and his motto is usually 'If at first you don't succeed, try harder', but I'm obviously not worth the effort. Sometimes, in a vague effort to be cool, he'll suggest a trip down to the pier for chilli fries or an ice cream with me, but he hasn't realised that being seen there with a parent is only to happen if you have plans to commit social suicide. He's also really big on physical demonstrations of affection towards me, which is just embarrassing, doesn't he get that hugs and kisses goodnight are for little kids, and that seeing as I'm not one anymore, it has to stop ? He often reminds me of how much I used to enjoy being cuddled when I was little, but that was ages ago, of course I liked it then ! How exactly am I supposed to grow up if he thinks a hug will make everything better for me, just like I thought it did when I was small ?
Both of them talk about being responsible and grown up, but they've never even let me had a pet before, other than a stupid fish that died after two weeks, and I'm not even allowed out to an evening showing of a movie by myself, how over-protective is that ?
I'm actually surprised I never made it into the drama club, as every day is an act for me. I smile at my parents as I tell them about my day at school, which involves giving them a list of the tests I aced (all of them) and telling them about the homework I've been assigned, the different projects and such like I've got to do. I think I've convinced them that I actually prefer to work alone, as I know they'd be disappointed to hear that no-one wants to partner geeky know-it-all big mouth Seth.
Sure, I get great grades, but any fool can do that if they work hard enough, it's nothing to really be proud of, but both Mom and Dad managed to fit in socially at school too as well as being academically gifted: Mom was just like Marissa, I imagine, lead deb, head of a variety of different clubs and I know Dad's old school didn't have much in the way of facilities or after school clubs, but the Nana's told me he was in charge of the debating society a couple of times and he was pretty good at basketball too. I'm totally unco-ordinated, gym class is hell for me, and sure, I'm artistic, but can only really draw cartoon characters, not real life stuff or architectural plans like Mom can.
They couldn't even provide me with a brother or sister either, someone to take the pressure off carrying on the Cohen family name and who would keep me company when they're both out working. Apparently, I was too much of a handful when I was little for them to consider having another child, and then Grandma got sick, we moved here, she died, Mom started working for Grampa, Dad got a job in the PD's office and so we stayed in this hell hole.
Anyway, I should make a move for the bathroom, then I'll get dressed and have breakfast.
I'm now seated in the kitchen, at the island, reading the Arts & Leisure section of the paper and consuming my second bagel of the day. There's still no sign of either of my parents, as Mom's « not feeling well » , which is a euphemism for a hangover, and Dad's probably out surfing, hopefully for a little while longer yet.
Darn, I spoke too soon. Must. Look. Busy. Dad's just come in through the front door, drawing attention to himself by carrying in the mail and therefore forcing me to acknowledge his presence. I'm so glad that whoever it was who invented the portable CD player did so, as it means I don't have to talk to anyone unless I choose to (I'm more and more convinced it was a teen with pain-in-the-butt parents), though the Parental Unit has decreed that it be removed at dinner time, apparently they enjoy reliving the Spanish Inquisition by asking me countless questions, the answers of which are actually none of their business. Dad's current obsession is whether or not I have a girlfriend, but seeing as the object of my affection is unattainable and doesn't even know my name, I hope he's not holding his breath, as it's never going to happen, the geek only ever gets the girl in the soppy chick flicks we have to watch when it's Mom's turn to choose what we watch during video night. If they stopped putting pressure on me, maybe I'd be able to relax and maybe even talk to Summer…
Dad complains that I don't talk to him properly anymore since I got my Discman, but we never really talked anyway, it was always just a stream of silly jokes or teasing comments directed at Mom and her lack of culinary expertise, so I don't know why he wants to be so close to me all of a sudden. I don't get it, as every time we start a father-son or man-to-man chat, as he likes to call them, they just end up in an argument, as he's constantly nagging me or criticising my taste in music or trying to get me to do stuff he deems cooler than what I do in my spare time. I wish he'd stop trying to run my life for me, it's so frustrating ! Sometimes I think he's lucky to have grown up without his dad, at least he never had to go through the excrutiatingly embarrassing talks Dad gave me about becoming a man and never had his personal space invaded without permission.
I wave at Dad, seeing as I may as well, and then chuck him a bagel, once I've silently informed him that the coffee's brewed. He grins at me and sits down, glancing weirdly at the mail as he does so, like there's a bomb in there or something. He's scrutinising me too, which is not a nice feeling, so I get up and pour myself a glass of orange juice. I take a gulp as I sit down again, but he's still looking at me funny. He motions at me to remove my headphones, and it's easier to do as he asks rather than give him grounds to tell me off. Grudgingly, I oblige and he hands me a package from the pile of mail next to him. It's the East Coast school brochure I sent off for ages ago, before I'd even mentioned the subject to him and Mom. He only gives me a couple of seconds with it though, before he grabs it away from me and starts rabbiting on about how there's no way I'm going and how dare I send off for such a thing because he and Mom have decided they want to see me suffer here forever, or at least til college, which might as well be forever, as it's 5 years away !
I hate it when he's like this with me, it means I have to yell to try and get a word in edgeways, and yell I do. I hate it when he's like this, it's best to leave him alone to calm down for a while, so I decide to head out, fully expecting him to follow me and ask me where I'm going and give my exact time of return, but he doesn't, which just goes to show how much he cares about me.
At least Mom doesn't do that, she just leaves me be, she always has done really, we've never been close, I think she's ashamed of how I've turned out too.
I grab my skateboard as I leave the house, as I'm not sure how far I'll go. I might even disobey my parents and go somewhere that isn't the beach or the pier, well, I would if there actually was some other place to go…