Chapter 2

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May 6th

Present time...

I dragged myself out of bed. It was almost the weekend.

The wooden floors were creaking as I was walking to the bathroom.

The bathroom was a gray room with white tiles. The sink was shaped like a sink you would find in a school bathroom. The mirror was dirty from all of the fingerprints on it.

I took my blue toothbrush out and brushed my teeth.

Our bathroom didn't always look so dirty. We moved to this house 10 years ago, a month after my dad had died.

My mother didn't have enough money. My dad was the money maker of the family. He had a good job that made him 100k per year.

My mother always had a fast-food job. She makes $15 per hour. Unfortunately because of her job. We had to move to this ghetto area near the borderline of Indiana.

Our city has two parts, the rich side, and the poor side. I live on the poor side and most of my "friends" live on the rich side.

The reason why the bathroom is dirty is mainly because of my mother's drug addict boyfriends.

I brushed my long wavy ginger hair and put it in a messy low ponytail.

I was wearing some black sweatpants and a dark blue hoodie with some black shoes.

I walked out of the bathroom and went to the kitchen which is where I approached my mom.

"Oh hey," I sighed.

"Hey," She replied.

I grabbed a banana and she said, "I'll be home late tonight."

"You're going to hang out with your boyfriend, I assume," I said in an annoyed tone rolling my eyes.

"No," lied my mom looking down.

"You really need to stop lying to me," I said.

"I'm not," denied my mother.

"I've literally caught you lying last week," I said annoyed.

"So? What I do is none of your business," sassed my mother.

"It is. I can't be the only one working to pay bills," I said.

"I do work," said my mother.

"If you work, how come every time you come home. I can smell the scent of alcohol on your clothes," I said.

"Go to school now!" demanded my mother changing the subject.

"And you need to go to work," I mumbled under my breath in frustration.

Her eyebrows raised and her eyes were filled with anger.

"Do I need to pull out the belt?" asked my mother in an angry tone as she looked down upon me.

"No," I sighed.

"Then don't talk back to me!" yelled my mother as she slapped me on my right cheek leaving a red hand mark.

I wanted to hit her back, but I didn't want to make the situation worse. I took a deep breath. I avoid eye contact with her.

I grabbed my backpack and stormed out of the house.

I quickly walked to the bus stop and got onto the school bus.

"Hey Lola," smiled my bus driver.

"Hey," I said awkwardly.

Then she took a close look at my face and her smile vanished.

"What happened to your cheek?" asked my bus driver with a concerned face.

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