graffiti (completed)

Fourteen.

She was in the kitchen this time, making whatever it was for dinner. It looked like pasta, or something slightly lame, but I didn't expect much. Simple Domino's was a treat to me. She was looking for another pot, by the sound of banging surrounding the kitchen, and I went to the table, where I had left my wheels.

"I didn't do it, you know."

The clanging stopped, and I turned around. She looked in the cupboard, though you could tell she wasn't exactly focusing on what was inside.

"I figured you knew me enough to know I would think crap like that is a waste of time and money. Plus, how would I get out of this house without you knowing?"

Her arms were crossed tightly as she held on to the crease of her shirt, in the dip by your elbows. She still didn't look towards me, eyes moving along the content of that same area.

"I didn't visit my locker that morning, since I left my board here," I spoke, holding up the wheels, "and how would I even buy paint, huh? You have to be 21 to buy paint."

"I don't know, how do you have it right now?" she snapped, getting up from her crouching position and finally turning her eyes to me.

"What?"

"The little door, Casey! I found it, in that little door, everything," she said, tone chastising, "How do you explain that??"

"Art project," I spoke quickly, smoothly, the words sliding off my tongue as I looked her in the eyes.

"What kind? With who?" she pried further, trying to get me to trip up.

"Its a project with stencils. I'm doing it with..." I said, then snapped my fingers, as if trying to recall, "What's her name? Emma. You babysat her, she said. She wanted me to keep it here."

"Yes, and I have her number right here," she spoke sharply, "I'll ask her about it, this art project."

"Go ahead," I said, going upstairs and taking my wheels with me. Halfway up the stairs, I clenched my fists, the urge to punch something almost overwhelming. She had the audacity to search my room, and find my stash. Did she throw out the caps? Did she take the colored ones, and the ones that were half full? When people touched my things, they had a habit of messing them up, I'd noticed. Instead of going to my room, I stayed in the hallway leading to the stairs, sitting in such a way that she couldn't see me, but I could hear her.

"Hello? Yes, Mrs. Balli, can I speak to Emma? Thanks!"

There was a pause as she waited for Emma to come to the phone, the opening and closing of more cupboards heard until Emma finally came to the phone. She put it on speaker, and i couldn't tell if it was for me to hear or for her to use both of her hands.

"Emma! Hey, I wanted to ask you something."

"Yeah?" Emma's voice said, different through the phone as most voices were.

"Did you ask Casey to keep spray paint here?"

"What?"

Shit.

"I found spray paint in her room. She said she was helping you with an art project?"

"Wait, you said spray paint?" she said, and there was a tiny pause before she continued, "Oh yeah! For stencils. We have to do something on a wooden board, and I figured I'd try to do something like Banksy."

Either she was a phenomenal liar, or a part of what she said was true. I reminded myself to thank her later.

"Also, Melodie?"

"Yeah?"

" I invited Casey to this party tonight. Is she still going?"

I grimaced, reminding myself to also hit her.

"Um," Melodie replied, voice going up and down, "I'll have to think about it. Where would you like her to meet you?"

I went into my room before she hung up the phone, and I was setting up the last wheel until she came in with a short knock. I never understood why people knocked on doors and then let themselves in. A knock usually meant you waited for permission.

"Casey," she said, gently moving my board off of the bed and sitting down next to me. I moved away slightly, making sure my personal bubble was still intact. She didn't say anything for a bit, staring at her lap. Maybe she was trying to set a mood. All I knew was that this wasn't an ABC family drama, and setting whatever tone wouldn't work the way she'd like.

"I talked to Emma," she said, looking at her lap, "What you said was right."

"Hard to trust someone who isn't your daughter, I'm sure," I spoke passive aggressively, crossing my arms.

She then looked at me for a moment, a strange look in her eyes. A mix between anger, irritation, disappointment, and....something else. Possibly pity.

"We never spend much time together," she said, "And the school usually doesn't just lie--"

"Well, yeah, you'd be surprised how many people lie around here." I cut her off sharply.

"Well, when I found the paint, I just made the connection--"

"And how about that?! How did you find it? Did you search my room??"

"Well--"

"You did! You invaded my privacy!"

"Why do you need privacy? There's nothing to hide!"

"Jesus Christ, when are you going to understand??"

"Understand what, Casey?"

"That you aren't my mother!" I yelled, getting off of the bed, "You were never my mother, you aren't my mother, and you'll never be my mother! You know why?? Because my mother's dead, that's why! Stop trying to care, stop saying "love you", stop putting out rules, and stop trying to be something you aren't!

"You don't think I know all that?? You don't think I know I suck as a parent?!?!?" she screeched, voice cracking.

I stood there, arms lowering from their angry position as her hazel eyes became piercing and electrical, like lightning, "I got this house as a graduation gift! They told me to start my own life, and so I did! But I couldn't get a child, I could barely keep a boyfriend, so I saw the chance and got you!"

She did something similar to before, when she crossed her arms, but this time, it looked more like she was hugging herself, "And I was trying, I was trying really hard to be good for you! I wasn't trying to be your mom, or your dad, or your permanent babysitter, I just wanted to be something good."

Her voice wavered on the word "good", and she cleared her throat, looking down while still sitting on my bed. I still stood there, not sure what to do or say. I was used to arguments, but none that were like this.

"She asked about a party, Emma," she finally said, clearing her throat once more before returning to her normal voice, " And if you were going. I thought it would be good for you, because you're always in your room or out alone. And you need to have fun, before we deal with this school drama. She said to meet her by the Checkers at like, seven-thirty. But if you don't want to go, its fine."

She then lifted herself up off of the bed, walking past me and out of the door, without her usual touch on the shoulder. I looked at the doorframe for a little while, before going back to securing my last wheel with it's bearings. With sighing, reluctance, and a bit of thinking, I grabbed my board at seven and went downstairs, slipping out of the door before Melodie could come down and ask what was going on.

The nights were slowly becoming warmer; warm enough that all I needed was a hooded jacket to keep myself from getting chilly.

It was quite nice of her, I guessed, pushing myself off with my leg, to want to be something good.