Trying to live

Chapter 25 Part II

The last two times I was at the principal's office, I received bad news. First, my mom's accident and me being temporarily shipped off to my neighbors, to be precise my ex- boyfriend's home. Secondly, a punishment because I accidentally threw a pie on a new teacher.

Both times, bad things followed.

Now, I met three cold and stern stares across from me.

I smiled awkwardly.

"They say third time's a charm," I said meekly.

"Not for you, girl. Not for you," Coach said back, shaking her head and repeating 'not for you' as if it was her slogan.

Coach Morgan was my former cheerleader coach. She was a fascinating woman and her intimidating look was known as 'the stare'. Her dark - skinned arms were crossed, her hair sleeked back in tiny braids all over her head.

She stared at me as if I committed a murder but then she always looked like that. I've rarely seen her laughing or generally happy.

Or it might be me. It had to be me.

Coach Morgan and I had a very good cheer coach and captain relationship. She loved my ideas or the way I converted her ideas and brought them to life. I wasn't just her student, I was already someone equal to her or so I thought. I never budged down when it came to voicing out my opinion. Well, in cheer matters but apparently I didn't see that she had the same relation with Juliette too.

I just thought I was someone special but well, being humbled showed you a lot of things that you once ignored to see.

Anyway, everywhere else I was the quiet obedient mouse. Being that meant for me that I was perfect - listen to elders, agree with whatever they say and never question them.

See, how that ruined my life.

Anyway, the beginning of junior year ruined my relation with Coach Morgan. She constantly had to remind me that I was the cheer captain and had responsibilities, I had to follow the cheer schedule and shouldn't be late to practice and should be nicer to my squad.

I missed training or came hours later. I was always drunk - sometimes more and sometimes less. But still drunk enough to cause drama.

I was a bitch to my squad. I called them names. I was not proud of it.

In the end I stepped out.

I quit.

I had to.

That's my version.

The next semester of junior year I had to be on track. And I was.

"Do you know why you're here, Ms. Vermont?" Principal Richardson asked. Underneath her seriousness was something else. Her eyes were full of daggers. Was she mad at me?

I chuckled awkwardly and shifted in my seat. "Not really. Is it because I missed classes? I promise, I'll do all the assignments I missed out on."

Then I clapped my hands, remembering something. "Oh, or is it because of the textbooks? I didn't do it intentionally. I would never do that to books but I can't help myself if someone forgets their book and it just lies there, and keeps staring at me and I'm always so bored, so I have to to doodl-"

"You do what?" Ms. Becker, my former math teacher in middle school and last year she was my teacher in two classes I liked asked. I conveniently forgot that she was here.

But that's always the case - math didn't exist for me, so I forget every person that associated themselves with it.

Ms. Becker, a lanky figure with white - blondish hair and round glasses proclaimed herself as the next math wonder. Until now, she was just regionally known not internationally.