Twisted

Chapter 3: It Just Doesn't Add Up

The bowl of sour pot-roasted chicken stared up at me and all I could think was "ew." Saying that though, in front of my strict parents who were more demanding than the Queen Of England, would land me back into sweeping duty and doing laundry for weeks. Better to just keep my stupid mouth shut and not add to the trouble I was already most definitely in.

The dinner table was silent. Dad dressed in his fancy tuxedo, napkin in his lap, taking miniature bites of food every now and then. Me, picking at my sick-looking chicken, trying to ditch the yellowish sauce on top that smelled like rotten eggs. And Mom, acting like the only normal person here, which was utterly abnormal for her.

My focus, other than not eating my chicken, was directing the conversation away from my uttermost stay in detention for the next couple of weeks.

"Soooooo," I dragged out, desperate for a conversation topic. "How was work today? Heard Johnny went ka-blewey on his debts." I smiled, shaking my head. "You know, it really can be a tough-." My mother cut me off, as usual.

"Did I give you permission to speak?" She gave me one of those looks, sliding a piece of chicken into her mouth. I almost gagged, repulsed by how she could even bare the smell of it.

I sighed. "No, Mother."

"Correct." Her bowl was almost empty. My God, she eats faster than a horse. "And don't think we'll be avoiding the main topic here. This is the fifth time you've gotten detention this month!"

Mhm, and I was pretty proud of it.

Being the "murder girl" had its benefits. I get away with much more than an average person at my school. Let's take, for example, the time Asher Knight cussed at the teacher, landed in detention for three months, and has never spoken another cuss word since. Now, let's take the time I cussed at a teacher. I only received a week of detention.

People say teachers are too mature to believe the rumors floating around, but I speak from experience. They treat me like I'm an insane person who may blow up at any moment's notice.

Pity is....barf.

"Alexandra." My mother's stern voice brought me back to the present. "Would you like to say anything before your father and I discuss punishment?"

Ah yes, the big fat punishment.

That I didn't want.

I stared my mother dead in the eyes, my wish being for her to become intimidated, but I only received an annoyed frown in return. "I'll take that as a no, then." She got up from the table.

"I have plenty of things to say," I muttered under my breath.

She spun around, giving me one of those looks, her eyebrow raised. "What was that?"

I stood up, the table shaking from my blast of force. "There's plenty of things I'd like to say," I shouted. She flinched at my harsh words. "You're just too much of an idiot to understand any of them. Both of you are." I gave my father a look, signifying that he hadn't earned a pass on this.

"Alexandra Parker," my mom stated. "Go to your room this instant." She slammed the plate down in the sink so hard, I thought it might've cracked.

"Fine," I yelled, throwing my utensils on the table, sliding out my chair, and bolting to the stairs.

I made sure to bang on every single step on the way up.

***
My actions, once again, came up and smacked me, hard, on the face. Sitting on my bed, my face stuffed in the orange juice stained pillow, counting out the number of times I'd screwed up today, I wondered how anything could possibly get worse. Like, was a zombie apocalypse going to begin? Just another thing to tick off my 'Never Thought This Would Happen' list.