Life Of A Bitch

10

"Oh my God, Mom! Do you realise what you have just done?" I shout at her.

Mom eyes me, her green eyes piercing into me. She slowly picks up the coffee mug and takes a sip. And this calm behaviour of her irritates me further.

"Really?" She asks, licking the foam off her lips. "What did I do?"

Arghh! I clench my teeth to prevent myself from screaming out. I pace around the room and take a few deep breaths. I don't want to shout at her again. She is my mother and one doesn't shout at one's mother.

I sit down on the chair opposite her and stare at the coffee table. "You should not have told her about my good marks, Mom. You should not have."

She sets down the cup and sighs. "I don't understand what is the problem. She's your best friend, for God's sake. And you don't even share basic things with each other, like scores? Like favourite brand hoodies and favourite bands and favourite TV shows? Then what are best friends for?"

You have done a deep damage, Mom. Really. And now, I don't know how to fix this.

Mom walks up to me and kneels near me, like you do with a child who just got scolded harshly. She rubs little circles on the back of my palm. It soothes my frayed nerves somehow.

"I'm worried about you, Jen." She whispers. "Your father and I are trying very hard to abide by your rules of not interfering with your private life. But, we're your parents, Jen. How can we not interfere?"

I just told you not to ask me questions about my friends and my social life. That is normal and teenager-y. Come on, everybody does that!

"You hardly talk with us about your life, Jen. You smile and laugh and joke with about our lives or Alz's life. But when it comes to you, you just say 'fine' and change the subject again." Mom says, sighing again. "It's like... it's like you're in depression."

I look at her, surprised. Depression? That's a little overboard, isn't it? However, if I think about my behaviour with my family, one might think that I am in depression.

"Jen," Mom says, looking at me with overly-concerned eyes. "Are you.. bullied at school?"

What? No, Mom.

"Because," Mom grips my hand tightly. "I read an article today about bullying and it said ninety percent of children who are good at academics are often bullied."

Yes.

She lets out a nervous laugh and looks away. "Of course, that's rubbish. I was a good student and I never got bullied. But," her voice falters. "are you bullied, Jen? Is that why you hide your scores from everyone? Even your best friend?"

I don't know what to say. I can simply run of to my room and bang the door shut, but that would make matters worse, and the next thing I know, I'm being dragged off to some fancy and expensive therapist. Or I could just tell her that I am a two-faced bitch. Either way, I'm screwed. So, I choose to remain quiet.

"Look, if you are upset about something, just tell it to me. Or to Dad. You are more friendly with him, he's the good cop after all. Just don't keep it all to yourself." I notice her hand trembling.

One might ask why she is so, so concerned. Yeah, general question asked by many of my 'friends' like, "why doesn't your mom leave you alone without checking on you the whole time?" Or "girl, we're just having a sleepover. Why's she worrying so much?"

Well, I have an aunt on my maternal side who had a daughter Lucy who was, like, one year older than me. She was cute, jovial, good at studies and baseball so yeah, quite the whole package. But a few months ago, she was found dead one morning, with a suicide note in her hand. And Mom has been extra vigilant with me and Alz ever since.

I just want to finish my high school the grand way, like a queen. Not like some scared and bullied nerd sitting in a corner, sniffling and listing down creative ways to torture his or her bullies. Unlike Lana and the others, I am certain of my future. With my scores, I can easily get into Harvard and then, get a teaching career there. So, why not enjoy my high-school life? Many people say high-school is the toughest part of one's life. No, it isn't if you are powerful. It isn't if you are the most popular chick in the school and several fan girls fawning over you. So what if I'm rude, mean and bitchy? At least, I'm not a suffering crybaby like the nerds. And.. and the people who really know me know that I have a golden heart and cannot bear to see anyone in distress. So, it's fine to.. you know, be a fake bitch. Isn't it?

My hand's wet suddenly. I look up and see Mom's tear-filled eyes.

"Mom, why are you-"

"Promise me, Jen," she says, trying her best not to break down. "You will not choose the fate that Lucy chose. You are a brave and beautiful woman. You will not choose to escape this whole thing cowardly. Promise me."

Oh God, Mom. Don't make me feel guilty of burdening you with anxiety. I won't fall into depression, be certain of that. And stop crying, please.

"Why are you making a mountain out of a molehill?" I ask, laughing. "You know I wouldn't do such a thing. You parents, though spend a part of your life as teens, know nothing about your teenage children. We are very smart people, trust me. We just, you know, do stupid things."

Mom smiles. "Good girl. I am proud of you." She stands up and kisses my forehead.

"What about Alz?" I ask. "Did you talk to her?"

She nods and walks to her room. "She will take some time to understand it."

I nod and stand up. "Still, I don't find Michelle a good tutoring candidate for Alz. She's a teenager, after all. Shouldn't you hire someone older and professional?"

Mom pops her head out of her door and points to the calendar. I look at her, expecting to be reprimanded for forgetting her birthday. But her birthday's in September. Now's April.

"What?" I ask her.

"What's the date?" She asks, smirking.

"3rd April?"

She groans and tilts her head sideways, as if saying 'Duh!' "Michelle's mother called her suddenly, some emergency came up, I don't know. So she hurriedly left, promising to call tomorrow."

What?

Mom laughs and sticks out her tongue at me. "A good mother never lets out her child's most precious secrets. I know how you hate it when I talk about your scores to people with whom you already didn't share scores. So, you know, happy belated April Fool's day!"

I glare at her, at her mean, mean joke. How could she do this?

"Remember how you and Alz tricked me into believing that Alz is gay?" Mom chuckles. "I just paid you back for it. My fake tears did the job, huh? I was a Drama nerd after all!"

"Mom!" I yell, overcome by a wave of relief.

What a mother.