Eight

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By the time I arrive home, I am both mentally and physically drained, but I still have to study for the history exam I have on Tuesday, as Mrs. Pollander so kindly reminded me. Groaning internally, I step out of my car and amble up the walkway, trying to prolong my inevitable study block as long as possible. When I tread across the doormat and into my home, a voice makes me freeze in the action of taking off my shoes.

"Where have you been?" my mother's sharp voice cuts through the air like glass. I turn around to find her dressed in, what a surprise, a black pantsuit with her makeup done to perfection, not a hair out of place. Oh, how I wish I were more like her, I sarcastically remark to myself.

"I was working," I state, slipping off my remaining shoe and beginning to walk up the stairs.

"Do not walk away from me, Alexandra," my mother warns, causing me to turn and face her. I can almost taste the tension that is plentiful in the perfectly ventilated air of this fucking mansion.

"I meant, where were you last night? You did not come home."

The way she uses the words 'did not' instead of 'didn't' makes me want to storm out the door and slam it so hard that this house falls down, but that is obviously unrealistic, so I just answer her question.

"I was at Mike's," I simply reply, watching as her expression hardens.

"I do not think it is healthy for you to be seeing your brother so much," my mother states as if she has a right to say such things. "You are in your final weeks of high school and you still have not received any letters back from your top college choices. You need to focus solely on academics and Michael is nothing but a distraction from the more important issues like exams that you have to prepare for. He is not exactly a positive influence and I will not have his failure affecting your potential success. You are not to see him until graduation, am I clear?"

"Mother!" I gasp, astonished. I can hardly believe the words that are leaving her mouth. Although her comments about colleges sting, it is the comments about Michael that anger me the most.

How can she speak about her own son with such disregard for him? And to forbid me from seeing him? That is preposterous. Just because Michael isn't the cookie-cutter, perfect son that my mother has always dreamed of, she tossed him aside like he was a piece of trash instead of her own flesh and blood. In my eyes, and his, she is a despicable human being and an even more despicable mother.

"Michael is my brother! And he is your son!" I scream, surprising both her and myself, but yelling at her eases some of the burn in my chest, so I continue.

"Just because you aren't satisfied with him, just because he doesn't live up to your outrageously high standards, you decide that he isn't a good influence? He is a damn better influence than you will ever be! Mike worked so hard to impress you; every day he busted his ass to try and achieve everything you wanted from him, and that still wasn't enough! Michael got into Princeton for Christ's sake, and you wouldn't let him go because you're afraid he'll run away like Gavin did! And you know what? You're right! He would have, and so would I! Gavin is just lucky he escaped this shithole before you could-"

"Enough!" my mother yells, raising a hand as if she's about to smack me. For a second, I think she will and I shrink back, but then she thinks better of it and lowers her arm.

"Enough," she repeats, calmer this time, although her livid expression suggests otherwise. Her stare is cold and pierces me like ice, though I have enough fire in me to completely pulverize anything she throws at me. I have never spoken to my mother like that. The last time anyone did was when Michael was still living here and he got his Princeton letter. She denied him the opportunity of a lifetime, and for that he will never forgive her.

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