"Sometimes people think they know you. They know a few facts about you, and they piece you together in a way that makes sense to them. And if you don't know yourself very well, you might even believe that they are right. But the truth is, that isn't you. That isn't you at all."
-Leila Sales
Halo
"Why weren't you at school today, Jasey?" My mum who oh so conveniently was home today asked. She was giving me one of her patronizing stares from the other side of the counter and I resisted the urge to run away and hide.
"I was tired." I shrugged, trying to pretend as if she didn't look as if she was ready to leap across the marble kitchen counter and strangle me. "I haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately," I attempted to reason.
"That was very irresponsible of you," she tutted and I almost laughed. This was rich coming from her. As if she had the right to call me irresponsible when Calum and I are basically the only ones attempting to keep this household afloat. That little coffee shop was the only ones who would hire people who looked like us. They try and tell you that Australians aren't racist but to be honest if you didn't look or act a certain way you would come off as untrustworthy. We spoke with the owner of the shop who was a very kind man who was around the age of sixty and explained out situation and he was very understanding. The manager on the other hand is a whole different story; she hates me with all her heart and soul. She adores Calum though; I swear she's in love with him or something. It was her decision to give him a pay rise and not me. She thinks that I'm the irresponsible one, which isn't that far from the truth, but I haven't done anything for her to lose all of her trust in me. Apparently it's extremely easy for anyone to loose their trust in me.
Mum was well off, she had, millions-maybe billions- stored away in her bank account. She spent a lot on a grand house and everything but did nothing to keep everything running.
"I trusted you and your brother to be responsible and take care of yourselves while I'm travelling for work." She did that think where she leaned her elbows on the table, put her forehead between her hands and use her index and middle finger to gently rub circles on her temples. She looked so worn out; I could see the bags under her eyes and how they were lightly rimmed with red. I worried about her sometimes, but she still never worried about us- she never showed it anyways. After dad died she divulged herself into her work. I didn't understand why she reacted the way she did to his death. They had been fighting for months, maybe even years. He seemed to cause her so much of stress, I thought it would be a burden being lifted off her shoulders after he died. Obviously not.
"I know. Calum still went." Calum actually has a reason to, I added silently. "My grades are still on top and I still do all my homework and make up work." I didn't get why everyone was making such a big deal of missing school when I did all the work anyways. I was barely there but I was still on top of all my classes. Calum had only missed a day and he was still sporting a C average in all of his classes.
"That isn't the point," she huffed. She stood up straight again, fixing her dress shirt and opening the fridge. "It's about the experience."
I had to hold in a scoff once she said that. What experience? The experience of being totally irrelevant? Well that's what I was aiming for anyways- but that's beside the point. Not being there made it even easier to stay completely invisible. It wasn't hard, when you're the new girl no one bothers to be your friend. It's not like how it is in all of those fiction books or movies, no one cares unless you're pretty or make a statement. I wouldn't call myself ugly but I didn't stand out unless I wanted to, and the way I was intentionally acting I was most definitely not making a statement. I was well aware of how high school was like, how teenagers were like. It wasn't complicated to figure them out, everything's quite cliché to be completely honest. It was all so predictable.
