Blooming in November

Chapter One: Wilting in August?

"Athena, get out of bed darling. It's five in the evening. This is ridiculous," my mother quips in a worried tone, and my bedroom light turns on, practically blinding me.
I groan and pull the covers over my head. I have absolutely no desire to move, or talk, all I want to do was sleep. Freshman year begins tomorrow and I don't get why my mom won't let me just sleep.
It's been an interesting summer to say the least. I've spent it in long sleeves and mainly inside. I'm so pale that I resemble a ghost and I keep promising my mom I'll eat breakfast or lunch but purposely sleep through them.
My mother is a wonderful woman who's problem-ridden child and abusive cheating husband have aged her quickly. She has many wrinkles, but she is beautiful. With tanned skin and a face of freckles, she is always wearing a sun-kissed look that no one else could pull off. She has dark brown hair that was dyed that way and she has perfect teeth. Though she has a wonderful smile, you can always see that she isn't happy. The sadness is in her eyes and it's haunting. I have a hard time looking her in the eye because of it.
I lay in bed for another hour after my mom turns my light on, trying to find some motivation to get up. It's when she calls me to dinner that I finally get up. I brush my hair quickly, not even bothering to uncover the mirror to see how I look. I go in the bathroom and wash my face, trying to look like I've been up. I change into some leggings and a big T-shirt then come downstairs. My mother is sitting at the table, staring blankly at her food. When she sees me walk past, she turns her smile on and says, "Good evening sleepyhead. I made your plate, it's on the counter."
I smile and nod, and get my plate. She made cheese pizza--she hates any pizza. It used to be my favorite food, I think that's why she made it. Personally, I think it's entirely inhuman of her to hate pizza but I try not to judge. The house feels very empty and so does my stomach. I blot the grease off of the cheese of the pizza and cut it into pieces and begin eating. While I'm chewing, my mother asks, "So are you excited for freshman year darling? You're finally a high schooler!"
I'm not, at all, but I pretend to be for her sake. Lately it seems like she's barely hanging on.
I swallow my pizza and put on a plastic smile, "Of course I am! High school is going to be so great." I want to ask where Dad is but I swallow the question along with another bite of pizza. Mom begins talking about her freshman year and how wonderful it was--a tactic to get me excited. Mom does a lot of tactics--take the pizza, for example. This was a tactic to get me to eat. At least she cares, am I right? I'm lucky for that. I try to seem interested and look like I'm listening to her high school stories but it's either obvious on my face that I'm not or she's getting upset about her age again, because she's talking slower and quieter. The thing about my mom is that you can always tell when she is genuinely excited and feeling passionate about something, because she will talk really loud and really quick. I never minded it, the first time she did it in the house I learned about echoes because of how empty our house is.
I'm sure you're wondering what my mom does. Well, she cries and drinks and takes some painkillers at night and during the day she acts like her crying isn't heard through the entire house. Oh, as a job, you mean? She's unemployed. She used to be a doctor, Dr. Matthews, but she quit after she found out my dad was cheating. I don't know what she does when I'm not home so I like it better when it's summer, because then I can stay home and keep an eye on her. One time I came home from school and found her on the floor, unconscious, with tears on her face. That's one of the many reasons that I'm not looking forward to going back to school--all I do there is worry about her. Sometimes I get lucky and get engrossed in an activity at school but it's very seldom that that happens. I'm not a good student, at all, but I have a photographic memory and I am a pretty good listener even when I don't want to be so my grades reflect that.
I've never had a good school year, I've always been bullied in some way or another. Last year was one of the worst, Cathy Andrews started bullying me. She is a stereotypically beautiful, thin girl with lots of family money and long blonde straight hair. She's also a diabolical evil conniving wench, but you'll see that later. Last year she made fun of my curly hair and the extra weight that I used to carry. One time she punched me for getting in her way, and after she punched me, she said, "if there weren't so much of you, this wouldn't have had to happen." I didn't know what to do when she did that. I don't like hurting people so I just went to the bathroom and cried. I never went to a teacher because I didn't want to get her in trouble.
Yeah, she's another main reason I'm not looking forward to school starting back. I did get a lot skinnier this summer but I'm still very afraid.
My dad is barely ever around and I prefer it that way. I am always on edge when he's home.
Mom and I finish at the table and I do our dishes. She comes in the kitchen, gets a new bottle of whiskey out of the pantry, pats my head, and goes to her room. I sigh and clean the dishes and go to mine. Freshman year starts tomorrow and I wish that made me happy. I wish anything made me happy. I can't remember the last time I felt happy. While I try to remember the last time I felt happy, I get in bed and turn my light off. Before I go lto sleep, I whisper to no one in particular, "Freshman year, please be good to me."