Lexie was a free spirit in every sense of the word. Despite being the spitting image of her mother, Isabella Swan, the two couldn't be more different.
In a last ditch effort to change her daughter's reckless behavior, Lexie was sent to an all-girl's...
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"That's it! I've had it, Alexandria," my Mother spoke in her usual stern voice, but there was a sharp edge to it this time. She was seething. "You've had chance after chance. I won't stand by and let you squander your future away."
When she found out about the late night party I had snuck out to, I knew she would be mad, but I never expected her to be this furious. After all, it's nothing I haven't done before. I guess that was the point.
"What's the big deal? We didn't even get caught," I said, shrugging nonchalantly as I absentmindedly stirred my bowl of cereal.
I looked up at her as I spooned some cinnamon toast crunch into my mouth, chewing slowly. Her left eyelid twitched as she stared back at me.
"Your eye," I spoke between bites. "It's doing that thing again."
Her eyes threatened to bulge out of their sockets as she paced the extravagant kitchen. The countertops were the finest quartz that money could buy. Her bare feet padded the Brazilian Walnut flooring as her pace quickened.
"Underage drinking. Sex. Drugs. Running from the cops! The list goes on and on!" Her voice went up an octave.
I quirked a brow. "First of all, I smoked weed. I wasn't popping xanies or smoking crack. Secondly, it was a party. Everyone was drinking. It's quite common among teenagers, actually. Especially at parties. Have you ever even been to one? Oh, and sex. Yes. I'm practicing safe sex, thanks for asking. And I didn't 'run from the cops'. I just.. ran. Like everyone else."
Her face paled; she looked like a vexed ghost when her head snapped in my direction. Her short brown hair was pulled back in a tight bun, not a single strand out of place. Her dark eyes sparked like fire amid her anger.
"You are unbelievable, Alexandria. I never had this much trouble out of your brother," she hissed, finally coming to a stop in front of the kitchen island.
I tried to stifle the eyeroll at her comment. Truly I did, but they simply got away from me. She was always comparing me to Billy. Billy this and Billy that. He was the perfect 'golden child', never so much as getting a detention. There was, of course, one advantage Billy had that I did not— He lived with his Dad.
Don't get me wrong— I love my Mother. She was an acquired taste and our relationship was rocky at best, but she was still my Mother. We just clashed. That was to be expected, of course. We were complete opposites in every way that it mattered. We shared the same DNA. We shared the same face. But other than that, we were like fire and ice. Oil and water. She didn't understand me; she didn't 'get me', and I certainly didn't understand her.
My grandmother, Renée, always joked that my mother had been thirty-years old when she was born, and that by the time she was a teenager, she was basically a middle-aged woman. So, what did that make her now?
