I can remember the first time that my parents told me that I wasn't a bad person; that I was a good person that had made a bad decision. I was eleven and had lied about breaking my mom's favorite vase. Does that still apply to me, five years later?
It is really hard for me to believe that, considering I'm sitting in the backseat of my parent's car, being brought back to my hometown so that I can "focus on how I can rebuild my life for the better" while my parents spend the summer traveling the world for "buisness." The town is in the middle of nowhere in Georgia, with no post office, one small shoebox of a grocery store, and a population of barley 400 people.
I haven't seen this place since I was twelve, when my dad got a new job and we packed up and moved to Atlanta. The transition from that to this is nearly impossible. I was so used to being able to walk across the street for basically anything I needed, but all of that's over. Now, there are cows in fields on both sides of the road.
"Here we are, the Waters' house," my dad said in the drivers seat across from me, pulling into an old family friend's driveway. The house itself was small, but there was plenty of land around the little country-style home.
My parents then turned around to face me. My mom began speaking to me in a way that told me that she had a pre-planned speech. "Natalie, while you are here you are going to be on your best behavoir. You will respect the Waters for taking you in when no one else would. You will not get yourself into trouble and ruin your reputation here too. Oh, and we will need your credit cards. You will now do what every other teen does during the summer when they need money- get a job. I am sure that the Waters would be happy for the extra help in their pasture."
I replied in my iciest tone, "Whatever. I could really care less about your rules, considering you could care less about me. Those rules are set to keep from embarrassing you, not for my sake. If you cared about me, you would ask me what I wanted for once, and keep me at home, not shipping me here like a Christmes card. Thank you for not believing me. Thank you for cutting me off. And thank you for abandoning me once again." I dug in my purse until I found my credit card and practically threw it at my mom.
Neither of my parents replied or denied anything. They simply just looked at each other and turned around. That is what makes this so sad. My mom and dad don't even deny that that don't care about what happens to me now that I apparently screwed everything up.
My family had known the Waters family for years before I was even born. The family consisted of an always happy wife, a horse-loving husband, ten-year-old twin boys, and another son that was a year older than me. I could remember playing with the oldest son, Alex, when we were younger. He had always been a scrawny thing that was obsessed with science magazines with messy brown hair that never stayed put.
I honestly shouldn't say anyting about being a geek, considering I was/am one. I'm horribly near-sighted and love to read anything and everything, but by the time I was thirteen, I got contacts, read only when I was alone, and traded in my too-dark-for-blonde-but-not-really-brown hair for a bright, dramatic red. Alex, on the other hand, had been the exact opposite.
Why me? I thought to myself, Why is it that I'm the one that gets blamed for everything?
"Oooh, I can't wait to see them, it's been too long," my mom said, as if nothing had happened. That was her speciality.
As soon as we were out of the car, Mrs. Waters was out of the door and running down the house's wooden porch steps. She was a plump, short woman with insanely curly blonde hair and kind brown eyes. She smothered us each in a hug, saying, "I'm so glad ya'll made it here safe!"
"We're just so glad that you offered to take Natalie under your wing. A nice summer back here is just the thing she needs," my mom replied.
"Well we're glad to have her. Ya'll can come on in. I just made some goodies," she said, making a sweeping motion with her hands to the front door.
YOU ARE READING
Deciding My Fate
Teen Fiction"I can remember the first time that my parents told me that I wasn't a bad person; that I was a good person that had made a bad decision. I was eleven and had lied about breaking my mom's favorite vase. Does that still apply to me, five years later...
