{A Michael Jackson Story}
He was broken glass, and she was untouchable. She thought she could read people, but he was a book without words. She held him in her hands, but she could not trust his actions, or even her own perceptions. After all, some...
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{M A U R A}
I came down the spiral staircase with my head held high, and my pride even higher.
We were assigned uniforms, but I only ever wore the blazer. The rest of the outfit didn't go well with my fishnet stockings, Louboutins and tight Pink Floyd t-shirt. I knew I looked too good to eat, because well... I was.
My parents didn't even look up from their newspapers as I waltzed into the room with a Prada bag on one arm and my backpack on the other.
"Off to seize the day?" my dad asked, sipping his coffee.
"Oh yes," I replied with a smothered grin.
"Try not to break too many hearts," my mother said sarcastically. She was a nice woman, but her mousy brown hair and plain eyes never caught the attention of anyone when she was my age.
I jolted at the sound of a car horn, coming from our driveway.
My dad folded his newspaper with a mechanical smile.
"Oh. Your new friend is here to pick you up."
"What?" I scoffed in disgust.
My dad just looked at me, and my mom pretended to read again.
"We are not friends, there's no chance in hell I'd ever be friends with Jersey Man-whore trash! Make him go away. Besides, I always drive to school with Macy anyway."
"She called," my dad said frankly. "She has an obligation this morning, and says that you should go on ahead without her."
"On the first day of school?" I huffed. "Riding with the Teenage Dream. Perfect."
"Be nice," Mom said sternly. "He's our neighbor, so we must be civil. And calling people 'trash' is not lady like. I expect more from you, now."
The 'I'm a responsible mother' act was getting annoying. She was practically dripping with amusement, I could see it behind her eyes.
"Whatever," I growled under my breath and went stiffly to the front door. "I swear, If he says the word bought again in that stupid Jersey accent, I'm going to off myself."
"No dear," my dad said and turned the page of his newspaper.
I shut the door behind me. Waiting in the driveway was a shiny red sports car, purring as blue exhaust billowed out from underneath it. The Teenage Dream leaned against it, still wearing that stupid leather jacket and the goofy grin.
