𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐄

|𝟏𝟏| 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞

Either way, it wouldn't matter, would it? There's no way they'd let me on the boy's team. First off, I'm far too short for all those fucking titans, and second, the last encounter with the boy's coach I had, had me contemplating my place in this world as a female.

I'm in no mood to be degraded just because I have a vagina for a freaking sport.

Maybe I could go for volleyball.

Actually, the shorts always get at least half of the girls catcalled. I'm not sure I want to be one of those girls.

"Ms. White? Do boys ever stop being... boys?"

She chuckles. "What do ya' mean?"

"Like, do they ever stop acting with their... weenie? And like, use the brain they've been given."

The sweet woman laughs again, settling her glasses on the top of her head.

"Well," she starts. "It depends, darlin'. Sometimes, those boys, if their mama's raised them right, they get out of their-- excuse my language-- asshole phase." I laugh at her choice of words. "But," she continues. "Other times, they just... they stay actin' like little boys. And that ain't your fault, got it?"

I nod, tucking a braid behind my ear.

"Havin' boy troubles?"

"Not really. I think that I just get scared."

"Of?"

"The boy's acting with their weenies," I laugh. "I don't know. It's just that, sometimes I worry that one of these days, they won't get what 'stop' or 'no' means."

"Darlin', has somebody ever hurt you like tha-" she begins, a worried look on her face.

"No," I lie. "I'm talking about things like when they say gross stuff or make weird noises. And do things that make you uncomfy just in general."

"Oh, all right," she clears her throat.

I smile, "But thank you for checking up about that. A lot of people would've thought about it but not said anything, so thanks. I'm glad to know that if that ever happened--" again. "--you'd be there for me."

She smiles back at me, nodding and looking back down to the pile of papers in front of her. She looks embarrassed for asking. But I don't think she realizes how much that actually means to me.

|𝔖|

Mom's still refusing to talk to me.

I've "upgraded" from death glares to no kind of looking at me at all. It sucks, to say the least.

Lately, when I feel anxious, I just blast music and lock myself in my room. Mom used to help a lot with my moments but now I'm stuck doing things on my own.

It's really got me thinking about how things'll go when I leave for college. If I leave for college.

How am I going to get through all my classes and just my life in general when I can barely handle a bad day? In con-fucking-clusion, I'm terrified.

I search through the cabinets for a cup after putting away the clean dishes. If there's something I'm going to miss when we get a new place, it's the dishwasher the McKenna's have. I never grew up with a dishwasher, and I'm kind of glad I didn't. If I had, I wouldn't enjoy this as much.

Doing dishes might not be all that bad if all I have to do is load them into the dishwasher.

After pouring water into a clean glass, I place it on the table next to my plate. May made me a quesadilla. She said that she felt bad that I hadn't had one before and that the fact I hadn't had one before was just proof of my mom's lack of skill in the cooking department. Inside joke, I guess.