Opposites Attract

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Victoria

When I get home, I'm super tired from today. In P.E., since we're in the swimming unit, we swam a lot. Now I'm tired from that. I'm ready to crash on the couch in front of my computer or on my bed or in front of the TV to do some homework. I decide on homework crashing on the couch in front of my laptop(s). I'm just about to start when, what do you KNOW? Mom pops her head in and says brightly over the music I'm blasting,

"Hi, honey!"

I jump about ten feet in the air. Okay, exaggeration. I JERK BACKWARDS AND HIT MY HEAD ON THE WALL. Mom doesn't seem to notice,

"We're going to a restaurant tonight! I want you to see it, it was one of my favorites as a child..."

Oh, crap. This is NOT going going to be good. Repeat? Not good. NOT GOOOOOD! NO NO NO NO!

Also, every single time that my mom goes, "It was one of my favorites as a child..." means that she's expecting me to LOOOOOVE it. That sucks, because half - no, three quarters - no, ninety nine point nine nine nine nine nine nine nine nine ninnnnnnnnne niiiiiine nnnnine nineeeeee percent of the time I HATE IT. And she doesn't take hints. Ugh. UUUUUGH!!!!!

About half an hour later, Mom calls me into her room. Okay, so I guess that in the quote "normal" world, people just yell upstairs or downstairs, or even across the hall. Um, well... not in MY world. "VICTORIAAAAA?" Blasts out of my wall. Yeah, that's right. My wall. Well, not actually my WALL, the intercom that is IN... well, sticking out of the wall. We can use intercoms to talk to each other so we don't have to move! Not extremely helpful, though, because my parents don't talk to me much, but, you know.

"YESSS?" I yell back at her, YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES WHAT THE FREAKING HELL DO YOU WANT?! But I don't say that.

"HELP ME DECIDE WHAT TO WEAR!" Wear? I need to help her decide how to DRESS? WHO ARE YOU AND WHERE HAVE YOU TAKEN MY MOTHER?!

"COOOOOOOOOMIIIIING!" I yell at her, then take the elevator up to her floor. SHE GETS THE HIGHEST STORY. No fair. NO FAIR! It's the best viiiiiiiew. It's a pretty view. A very pretty view. I WANT THAT VIEW. Oh well.

When I get to her room, there's a bunch of jeans I didn't even know existed in her vocabulary or like definition of clothes and some t - shirts. T - SHIRTS?! WHO IS THIS WOMAN?! I do not understand what my mother is doing because I have never seen her in jeans or a t - shirt or anything like that. GASP!

"Um, where did you get all that stuff?" I ask in complete confusion.

"It was in the back of my closet," she explains to me, "And I pulled it out for the restaurant."

Have you been drinking??? Most restaurants we go to are fancy dresses places, paparazzi flocking around the entrance the whole night. So... what is going on here? "Um............ Mom???????" I say quietly, "Are you okay?"

She completely ignores me, "OH! This is a picture of the place we're going to!" She taps her computer awake and Googles "Greasy Joint". Then she clicks on images. A faded banner, a dirty sidewalk, normal people going in and out... OH YEAH! MY MOM USED TO BE NOT AS RICH WHEN SHE WAS LITTLE! Then her parents got rich when she was like eight.... so... YEAH.

"Did you... Google the wrong place?" I ask, searching for a frown on her face. Nope.

"No, this is fine! So, I don't want to be seen here as, you know, amazingly rich and wonderful and smart person I am." 

"So you want to be seen as a poor, awful, dumb person?" I ask, staring at her, my mouth hanging wide open.

"NO!" Mom scoffs, "I just don't want to be a paparazzi person for one night!"

"Okay..." I say, still not believing this, "Then rip those jeans."

"WHAT?!" She shrieks, horrified.

"Or not... Um, do you have a sweatshirt that's like... dirty or something?"

"Why would I?" Mom looks confused herself, now, "Why would I want that? Then the company might get bad publicity."

"Right. Go rub your sweatshit in some dirt in the backyard." I say sarcastically. Mom doesn't catch it, though.

"WHAT?! THAT WAS TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS, AND IT'S ONE OF MY FAVORITE ONES!"

"Sarcasm, Mom. SARCASM."

"Oh. Okay."

I pull some of the cheapest things Mom has out of the pile and hand them to her, "Put that stuff on."

"Okay."

Then I leave.