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After one last glance at the perfectly fixed room, I head for the next door, my father's office.
I sniff longingly the moment I open the door. The scent of cigar and whiskey surrounds me. It's not faint, since the maids in the house aren't allowed to be inside the office. Looking around, I see the cigar butts on his desk. The only thing I've seen in a long while that belongs to my dad.
This is what's left of the family I had. Just scents. And inanimate things that assure me my parents are still alive, just absent from my life.
“Miss Faye, your breakfast is ready,” Stacey, one of the maids informs me. She’s close to my age. She could be my friend if my parents didn’t forbid anything outside a professional approach between the staff and us. I don’t want to be the cause of anyone losing their job, and more than that, I don’t want to lose a familiar face just because of my selfishness.
Heading to the dining room, I place my hip against the table and take a spoonful of my cereal. This room is big, just like the rest of the house, but it’s also as empty. It’s been almost a year since I had breakfast with my parents. If you count the time I caught them as they grabbed their travel coffee mugs. We shared a hand wave as they rushed out and that was the only familial reaction I had. I had to wake up two hours ago to catch a sight of them that day.
This house is the most beautiful and biggest one in town, but it’s never been home. And I’d give everything away just to spend some time with my parents, just to feel like a family. Just to feel I’m cared for by my parents like most teenagers take for granted.
When tears threaten to well up in my eyes, I grab the apple from my breakfast tray, my bag from the chair, and leave the house like it’s on fire.
It’s my last year in high school, but the kids never stop reacting in the same way when I enter the school parking lot. It’s like one of the high schools in those chick flicks. Yes, I have a driver. Get over it already.
Rolling my eyes, I walk through the gates and head for my first class.
“Miss Faye!”
I stop in my tracks, groaning inwardly when headmaster John’s voice looms over the school hallway. Dammit, I was so close to making it to the class.
“Yes, Mr. John,” I mumble, turning to face his angry face.
His gaze roams over my uniform before he snaps, “My office. Now.”
When we head to the other building which his office is in, he doesn’t wait to reach there to reprimand me.
"I'm really tired of having the same talk with you, Miss Faye. We're trying to be understanding about your rebellious behavior, since your family is very generous to our school, but I'll have to call them about your behavior if you insist on breaking the school dressing code."
I snort. He always says the same thing, threatens to call my parents. I wish he would. All I do - breaking the dress code, smoking pot in the school library - is to make him call them but he never does it.
“Please, go and talk to Mrs. Green about your behavior. Hopefully, she’ll help you realize your mistake,” he grits out and walks away.
With a shrug, I head for the counselor’s office instead of going to my Math class. I hate Math anyway.
“Eva, I really don’t know how many more times we’ll have the same talk,” Mrs. Green sighs as I sit in front of her desk.
"Mrs. Green, the school wants me to wear my uniform, and here I am, wearing my uniform. I don't know what else you want me to do," I say, glaring at her.
“Your uniform is too provocative,” she tells me slowly.
I look down at my uniform. The pleated skirt and white shirt. Just the standard uniform. What's the problem if my skirt is a little short? It's not much different from cheerleaders’ skirts. And my shirt is a bit tight, so what? I grit my teeth. "Provocative for who? The perverts with dicks who don't know how to control it?"
“Language, Miss Faye.”
I sigh. “Can I leave now?”
She shakes her head. “I know you kids like to rebel, but you’re making life hard for all of us.”
I grit my teeth. “I’m eighteen, Mrs. Green. That makes me an adult, not a kid.”
She waves her hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. An adult. Okay, you can go now.”
Grabbing my messenger bag, I leave her office.
The school counselors think they can help everyone, that they can understand everything and know better, but actually, all Mrs. Green thinks about is if her nail polish will match with her tailored suit.
Otherwise, she might realize how alone and lost I am.
