Well I'm back for another chapter :) reviews made me laugh and they are very much appreciated. I'm kind of figuring more of the story out… which is good news :) It would be a lot better if I got more reviews though. :D

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine… except the characters you don't recognise from the Mediator… those are mine :) oh and so is the plot… the plot kicks ass :D

Read and review please :)

Here's the reading part.

It Doesn't Take a Genius-

Chapter 2- Charles Darwin Forgot to Make an Exception for My Mother

Mom's Place:

When I stay here every other weekend, I get my own room, the size of the bottom floor of my home in the Valley. The floors aren't carpeted here or wooden, they're marble and stone and really expensive floorings. The floor in my room is Pink Marble, which I didn't even know existed, I thought all marbles were gray; apparently god made Pink Marble for sissy girls.

Although I would have preferred any other color, I had to agree that it was quite pretty. But I didn't say that to my mom, I didn't want to get along with her in any way. I was being purposefully difficult, I know.

The walls have been painted what my mom called "French Gray" in a really terrible French accent. She said it was all the range right now and colors looked spectacular. But to be honest, I thought it looked quite dull… and the only think that made me feel a little better in the morning was when I saw the almost see through floor glitter.

I have a King sized bed. I think my mom has hallucinations about me having 6 guys in my room at once. Not from the Valley but from RLS and Junipero Serra Mission Academy. You know the kind of guys… the ones with the money and the flashy cars, cool hair styles and perfect tanned muscles.

Yeah basically the type that doesn't exist for me.

The en suite bathroom has a double shower, 3 sinks with massive mirrors and lights surrounding them. There's even space for one of those glass bath tubs, a Jacuzzi a toilet (obviously) a small wardrobe and a vanity table.

I even have a mini aquarium in my room. With Crabs. Not fish, crabs. Which is what made my friends laugh so much. The first time I came back from visiting mom and she had decorated the room, I didn't even say hi to them, I just said, "I've got crabs."

Obviously they all took it the wrong way, so in revenge I named all my crabs after my friends, which they didn't think was so funny.

And even though the room has various accessories such as the fluffy pink princess telephone and a box of condoms in one of the drawers which I have pointedly avoided, the room really is a nice room, I bet loads of girls would kill to have it.

I'd say kill my mom and be my guest. But that's a little mean.

Anyway, today is Friday night of the every other week, which means I have to make my way up to my moms place, and meet up with Man Whore and the Three Wise Men.

I was packing, and when I look back at that moment, I think it's the time that my story truly began.

"Honey!"

"Yeah dad?"

"No! No! Honey! Honey! The effin' answer is honey!"

I chuckled to myself as I realised my dad was talking to the TV set again. He loved watching quizzes; he always said that smart people watched quizzes. We always went down to the bar on Sunday Quiz night after I had cycled home from mom's, I think my dad always wanted to prove himself better than my mom so I would change my mind. I mean he knew life there would be better for money wise.

There was always a point when once we had won the quiz in our small team of three (my dad's friend, Trevor, would join us); dad and Trevor would always get really drunk on beer like normal people. Or vodka, but that was only on birthdays… maybe wine on Christmas. Anyway, once they were really wasted, my dad would feel sorry for me that I wasn't joining in on all the fun and would shout out really loud, "Hey! Hey, bar guy, m- my… haha… my daughter she- shes- ha- twen- twenty one… hahaa!" then he'd slap his thigh like it was all a really massive joke and order me a drink. Obviously Rick, the bar tender, knew I wasn't 21, but people round here don't call the cops on you for every little thing you do that's 'illegal'.

You could say Sunday nights are my favourite. Not only do I get to escape from my mom, Man Whore and the faithful followers, I get to spend all night with my dad and Trevor. I usually get some business done as well just before we leave, plus Melissa usually stops by.

Back to when I was packing; I had just smiled to myself and picked up all the dirty washing we had. That's what I do before I leave. I already have more than enough clothes over there, but I take all our washing so that we don't have to spend money on detergent and electricity bills. And my mom would rather look like a saint in front of everyone than tell me off for bringing dads clothes as well and humiliating herself in the process.

It's pure genius.

I could here the faint, "ooohh!" coming from the audience in the show and then a little laughter. I stuffed the last few socks into the spare pockets of the sports bag that usually held my cheerleading outfit and gym wear. A commercial came on about car insurance and I heard dad lifting himself from the couch as I ran down the stairs, jumping the last 7 for good luck. It's a habit.

Passing the kitchen, I walked to the backdoor and selected the spare set of house keys from the coat hanger and stuffed them into the pocket of my shorts.

"When're you going to be home flowerpot?" I know, unbelievably embarrassing name but he is my dad so I don't care. He has hundreds of names for me.

"Erm… probably by 7 on Sunday- that ok?" I asked whilst fastening my helmet distractedly.

"Excellent," he stated happily, "Just enough time for you to wash for our big night out!" He turned back, white hairs poking between the red that covered his head.

"Why, what are we doing on Sunday dad?" I said slightly exasperated- I knew the answer every time.

"It's quiz night Susie! And guess who I'm taking with me?" he paused looking at me, his moustache twitching in an effort to suppress a smile, "Only the woman of my dreams!" then he squeezed my cheeks like I was 6. I just smiled and told him to go back to watching TV. He laughed and I heard him wheezing a little as he started coughing.

"Dad," my accusing eyes turned towards him, "I told you you'd catch a cold if you didn't wear your jacket this morning didn't I?" He nodded and gave me a kiss after he had stopped coughing.

"Behave sweetheart!" which is translated into, "Give her hell sweetheart!" I prefer the latter rather than the former.

I stepped out onto the dark street, a lamplight flickering 5 meters away from our doorstep. A low wall separated our front garden from the sidewalk and we didn't have a drive, just a small garage. Between the damaged bricks of the wall weeds grew, and through the slabs that made up the pavement. I looked out to the narrow road, and made my way to the bike shop I worked at. My bike was there, I thought it would have been safer, since they had proper locks there, and the shop wasn't exactly shabby.

Although it was closed, I was still able to get in since I had been trusted with a copy of the key, just in case I came in before Daniel, the owner.

My bike was my baby. It was the most expensive thing that I owned (besides all the stuff with mom), and the only thing I kept fit with. I ride everywhere, including to moms. Even though I could take the bus, and it would be a lot easier, but I find it funny, the look on her face when I turn up an hour and a half later than I should. See the arrangements are that I have to catch the bus. But I always have a different excuse for why I'm late. Not only does it piss her off, I get to miss the 'family dinner'. Seriously, my dad and I are more of a family, and it's just the two of us.

The only problem with being purposefully annoying is that it's a real pain cycling uphill for almost an hour. That's why they call it the Valley, duh.

Except when I do get to cycle upwards, I get the best views, even if it is night time. First, like now, I get an amazing view of the town; the lights sparkling everywhere make it look glamorous.

Then I get to God-Knows-How-Many-Mile-Drive and the view is… spectacular. Really, it's breathtaking. More so in the middle of the night. But by the time I reach up there, it might as well be. When the mood shines down on the glittering deep ocean and the stars literally light up the sky… it's amazing. It makes me feel at peace, because it isn't one side of Carmel that's better than the other, it's the middle, the compromise. Am I making sense? Probably not, but I know what I mean.

Usually after that, the really massive houses come in. I mean like- mansions. The ones on Scenic Drive.

And that's where I'm headed.

You think I'm joking? With Man Whore working with Casinos in Las Vegas and Mom working for CNN (it makes me role my eyes in disgust too), why wouldn't they live in the virtually glass house right before a cliff?

I hope the cliff erodes one day and they fall.

God I'm awful. No wonder everyone knows mom cheats on Man Whore, everyone can see mom and the mechanic doing the dirty through the spotless windows. I doubt they even draw the curtains; it's probably too much hassle when they're trying to rip off each other's clothes.

Oh and of course the fact that the curtains of their bottom floor could wrap around my whole house 6 times.

I wasn't kidding when I said mansion.

I hopped off of the bike and set it down at the bottom of the drive that was as long as the whole of my street. Even though it was dark, I found the sprinklers and was struck with an idea.

Turning the switch, I watched water fly around- after a minuet I turned it off.

What had previously been soil between the plants had turned into mud. I ran through it, making sure every inch of me was splattered. I picked up my bike and was grinning madly as I run it through the slushy substance.

It was only then that I trekked my way up to the porch. With a satisfied smile I saw that both the bike and I were still sufficiently dirty. The moment the Gary the butler (it just makes me hate them more because they have a butler) opened the door, he smiled at me. I liked Gary the best, along with the cook and the maid… the gardener… not so much. I suspect he's slept with mom.

I made sure that when I walked in, I made as much mess as I could all over her foreign rugs.

Like a lot of mess.

Of course not all over the actual floor, that would mean that Cassie had a load of work. And, that wouldn't be fair. Keeping a firm grasp on the handlebars of the bike and pulled it along, pressing hard so that the tracks of the wheels would be obvious on the intricate design on the rug.

"Miss Simon," Gary greeted me with an amused look and a quick nod. He closed the door and walked back to the dining hall. When I say dining hall I mean dining hall. Like school hall size.

It freakin' huge.

Let me describe to you the current hall I was standing in. The floors are made of enormous slabs of cold, Scottish granite. A handmade rug (now defaced) was in the middle of the room, and it was the size of a bus. The walls facing outside are clean glass, with an excellent view of the ocean since the house was a lot higher up than the main road. If you look up at the ceiling, you will see the delicate and yet complicated pictures that had apparently originated from African culture. Of course that was also hand painted… and shaped like the inside of a dome. So that there really is a dome on the front side of the house. There aren't doors leading to all of the rooms of the bottom floor… no. The Ackerman household is too great for that… they have carved arches. Freakin' arches. With Freakin' flower deigns carved into them. Oh and the ceiling is so high up, they have pillars. If I didn't know any better, I could have said that this was a cathedral. It was like a mixture between modern and cultural. Even the detail on the stupid staircase was hand carved. And it isn't wooden mind you. It's granite with marble rails. It's like Harry Potter's freakin' Hogwarts castle.

Ok I have to stop saying freakin'.

But that isn't the end of it. You know what they got carved into the sides of the rails? Their names. That's right. Starting from the very top (From two sides because the staircase splits in two), is Andrew Joseph Ackerman, Helen Linda Ackerman, Jacob Joseph Ackerman, Bradley Andrew Ackerman, David Johnathan Ackerman.

And it just repeats over and over.

It makes me sick that they must have spent hundreds of thousands just so they could carve their names into it. It was probably my moms idea, I never got round to asking her. I mean why couldn't they have just gotten some sharpies and written their names on it. I bet it would've looked better. But no, they have to make me, the Green Peace's enemy turn hippie. Geez even I see why spending all that money is wrong.

So yeah, there's the description of the grand hall. This is more like Harry Potter than I thought.

I only had seconds to register the sound of high heeled shoes making their way towards the entrance hall when my beloved mom waltzed in, her six inches of cover-up, deep red lipstick and bleached blonde hair would have made Barbie proud. Her face was arranged to look calm and relaxed. I would gladly unarrange it for her.

A slight frown appeared when she saw me and a look of disgust when she saw my bike, which soon turned into horror after the whole minuet it took her to register what I had done. Gary was laughing behind her silently as she almost hyperventilated. I swear, even though her body may have evolved, her brain certainly hasn't.

"Susannah!" she cried, evidently outraged, "Wha- what have you done!"

Have you ever watched that episode of friends, when Monica and Phoebe's 'friend' Amanda Buffamonteezi comes in to town, and they start making fun of her fake British accent? That's what they should do to my mom because she sounds exactly like Amanda.

I shuddered too.

"Aren't you going to ask me why I'm late mother?" I call her mother because A) she thinks it's too formal B) I don't want her to think I actually like her C) because i make fun of her accent in the process. Like I said; pure genius.

"Well- bu- you- you ruined my rug you selfish bitc-"

"Ahem," Gary interrupted my mom's pathetic spluttering, "Madam, don't forget…"

"Oh! Yes, thank you Gary, I mustn't risk the botox!" Her face was set emotionless once more. "Susannah," she said calmly, (she always says Suze and Suzie is way too vulgar and common), "would you please apologise for the mess you have made?"

"Actually," I replied in the most annoyingly British and nasal voice that I could, "I think it adds quite a spectacular edge to the rug, don't you agree Gary?"

He let out a short laugh that he couldn't contain and simply said, "Miss Simon, I think you should go unpack."

"Of course I will." And with a sincere smile towards Gary and a contemptuous look to my mom, I ran the rest of the stair case up to my room on the third floor. The first thing I did after throwing my bag down onto the pink marble floor was turn on the stereo, and turn it up as high as it would go.

I filled the sinfully comfortable bathtub with warm water and different kinds of bath soaps and petals, salts and scrubs. I love using up all the expensive stuff. I know it must make me look like a beggar whose never had a shower, but… well if it annoys my mom, I'm all for it.

By the time I had settled in, my mom's voice was nothing but a mouse squeak as she screamed pointlessly up the stairs. I laughed aloud and rest my head, allowing the dulcet tones of Jennifer Lopez to send me asleep.

When I woke up, the water was freezing. Literally freezing. I felt like I had been thrown into the Arctic sea. Looking over at the large digital clock set into the tiles, I read the time was 01:03am. I had been asleep for hours, no wonder I was cold. But my music had been turned off. Looking around, I realised all the lights had been turned off, the only reason I could see was because of the ridiculously large windows that were allowing the moon's silver light glow through.

I drained the tub and ran to the shower for hot water…

…Which never arrived. Then I realised what my mom had done. She had turned off the electricity on my floor. And goddamn it I was furious.

Picking up the first towel (embroidered with my name) that I saw, I wrapped it around me and ran out of the en suite bathroom, before slamming it shut and doing the same to my bedroom door.

I stood at the very top of the staircase, breathing irregularly, I didn't care how annoying I was, I had the right to be annoying. I held onto the banister and gulped in as much air as I could before I-

"MOTHER!"

I heard Max, the household dog that was only allowed in certain places of the 'house' yelp in surprise. Coward. My voice had echoed several times. Seriously.

"MOTHER!" I screamed again, determined I was going to get her attention even if I had to walk in on her sleeping with someone.

Bad image in my mind. Oh crap.

Before I could belt out the third scream I heard my mom stomping around in heels… again. Seriously, who wears heels at home for the fun of it? She didn't scream, she just ran up the stairs as quickly as she could with stiletto platforms on. Her lipstick was slightly smeared, which just confirmed my suspicions that she was, in fact, sleeping with someone since I knew Man Whore was out tonight.

"Susannah, you will keep your voice down!" she demanded.

"Not until you turn my friggin' electricity back on!" not bothering to grant her wish.

"Why do you have to be so difficult Susannah?" For half a second she actually looked troubled before her stern face was back on, "I will turn it back on, but you aren't allowed to play your music so loud!"

"How come I can't have loud music, but you can turn the place into a the Playboy Mansion?"

The she slapped me.

Oh don't look so shocked. I slapped the stupid excuse for a mother right back. It's not like it hasn't happened before. Plus I really did deserve that slap; I know I'm overstepping line by miles. And anyway, if I made a big fuss about it dad will find out, then he'll insist on taking mom to court. And we just don't have the money for that kind of thing. So I've decided that of she slaps me, I slap her back. She usually gets really upset and just goes back to her room.

Honestly you must think I'm some kind of disobedient, disgusting, rude, insolent child. Which I am to my mom… but I really do have good reason. Stuff I haven't shared with anyone, ever. Not even Melissa. So although I might be like the devil child or whatever, I do have my reasons, and no matter how many times my mom makes me feel a little guilty, it won't change my attitude towards her.

She deserves to be in prison, with the scary lesbians. Not that I have anything against them, it's just in movies there are always scary rapist homosexuals in prison when the prison is like single sex. Oh you know what I mean right?

Mom turned my electricity on after that, and I reminded myself to stop being so soft and feeling bad. But I didn't turn on my music… for Jake and Brad's sake, I told myself.

Still probably not what you guys wanted to read right? Or am I wrong?

Please review and tell me and I will be eternally grateful. I sacrificed my sleep for this…and god knows I love my sleep :D

Cheers

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