|An A For the Underachiever|
Author: wenhaver (heidi)
Email: heidi⊕delusional.com or wenhaver⊕yahoo.com
Category: Mostly CC
Rating: I swear like a sailor but can't write a decent nookie scene to save my soul.
Disclaimer: Nothing related to Roswell is mine. The setting was thought up during a really, really boring day at work.
Summary: Liz is smart. Too smart for her own good. Max spends most of his time being a pain in the ass. Grand adventures are had. There is a 85% chance of alien powers appearing. Tess/destiny is nothing to worry about, although she is still a major bitch.
The shooting never happened. It’s senior year at West Roswell High. Tess was around for a while, but moved with her parents.
twirl, twirl, twirl, twirl….clatter…. scrape…. twirl, twirl, twirl…. tap, tap, tap.
I wish homework were as interesting as twirling this pen. I resist the urge to let my body slump forward until my head hit the table. While the resulting “thump” may be satisfying, the subsequent pain in my head, and the disturbance it would cause others doesn’t justify it. Not that I really care about the others. They all think I’m a freak, a menace, a goody-goody, a kiss-up, or a nobody, anyway. It all depends on the perspective of the individual clique. I’m just not in the mood to be whispered about right now.
Since when does “Gifted and Talented” mean “Boring and Worthless”? The only Gift and Talent I’m getting out of this class is the ability to sleep with my eyes open. They told me I’d be more challenged in these classes. Not as bored. That I wouldn’t have to spend my days stuck in classrooms full of mouth-breathing idiots. My parents were proud, and happy that the school had come up with a solution for my “problem”. Well, “They” lied, and my problem hasn’t been solved. I’ve just moved on in my way of expressing it.
My school file is suprisingly thin, considering. My permanent record is remarkably unscathed. The only thing that could be considered a black mark is that note from my guidance counselor.
To: Principal Marks
From: Ms. Leon
Re: Parker, Liz
Ms. Parker’s test scores are exceptionally high. Would recommend advancing a grade level, however, her GPA remains low. Suggest Ms. Parker is under-challenged, and therefore undermotivated to perform at her full potential.
Yeah, yeah. “Full potential”, my ass. I’ve been stuck here in Roswell, New Mexico for so long that I don’t even think I could recognize my full potential if it bit me. At least my Dad is a close, old college buddy with the principal. Pretty much makes all the shit I pull get swept under the rug. That’s a good thing, because next year I’ll be heading off to college. Elsewhere. Anywhere but here. And you can’t get to Elsewhere with a 1.57 GPA and a 4-inch thick permanent file. It just won’t happen. So my doting parents and their friends have worked together for the past three years to make sure it will happen. Little Lizzy Parker will go to a good college and be successful. She will Do Good Things. She will make her hometown proud.
Part the second
The bell finally rings, and I scramble to my locker to shove my textbooks away where I won’t have to look at them again until tomorrow. Skillfully dodging and weaving through the crowded hallways, I make my way outside. The sun is bright overhead, as usual. I don’t have a car, but it’s not like the 5-minute walk home is going to kill me. Another second spent is school is about the only thing that could do that.
The bell above the door rings as I enter the Crashdown, my parent’s restaurant and the bane of my existence. Well, of them anyway. Roswell is the alien capital of the world, you know, so there’s all these junky tourist stops all up and down Main Street. My parents own one of them. Lucky me. My torture comes complete with 5 4-hour shifts a week, antennas, and a silver alien head apron. Today’s shift starts in about 45 minutes.
I spend my time lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Thinking about nothing. It’s amazingly easy to think about nothing. To just let your mind go where ever it wants. And most of the time, mine goes blank. Profound, aren’t I? I know my 45 minutes are up when I hear my Dad yell my name from downstairs. He must have been calling me for a while, because he has worked up from ‘Lizzy’ to ‘Liz’ and onto ‘Elizabeth’. If I don’t come soon, he’ll add my middle name as well. As I really hate my middle name, I scramble to change while yelling that I’ll be right there.
I spend the next 3 hours fuming over my parent’s choice of name and have just come to the conclusion that they had picked something horrible on purpose, just so that I would be forced to obey them before they exposed it to the whole world. Parents can be tricky like that, you know. The bell above the door jingles again, and I don’t even bother to look up. It’s not busy today but I don’t feel like mustering up the motivation to leave the back room where I’m filling ketchup bottles to take an order. Whoever it is will wait. They always do.
When I finally finish filling bottles, I load my arms up with and begin backing out the door. Just as I’m about to bump the swinging door open with my rear, it flies open and smacks me in the ass. I am a little off-balance anyway, and I ended up falling facedown on the floor. On top of a mountain of ketchup bottles. In a puddle of spilt ketchup. I do a quick limb check to make sure that everything is still in good working order, then whirl to face my attacker.
Max Evans stands in the doorway, eyes wide and a look mixed of amusement and embarrassment.
“Hi Liz”, he says.
Part the third
“What the hell are you doing here, Max?” I could barely restrain myself from hitting him. Who the hell does he think he is?
“Uhm, are you OK?”
“NO! I am drowning in ketchup here… and I repeat. What the hell are you doing here?” Alright, I really want to hit him now. I can tell he’s trying to not laugh. I’m red, sticky and dripping, and he wants to LAUGH.
“Well, I came to talk to you about that bio project…”
I give him one of my patented “Huh. You’re a complete psycho” looks.
“You know…. The gene thing… the thing with tracing our traits from our parents… the big bio assignment.”
I vaguely remember something about a bio assignment. However, I wasn’t really paying attention, because it’s not like I’m going to do it anyway. Max is supposed to be my lab partner, but I usually don’t do any of the work. He puts my name on the lab sheet anyway, which is why I’m actually getting an A in the class.
“Uhm, Max, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t “do” homework. Especially work that involves a partner. I’m sure you understand…”
“No, Liz. I’m afraid I don’t understand. It’s not like you’re stupid. You could easily be getting an A by yourself. I just don’t get you.”
“Well, I’m not asking you to. I’m not doing it. Sorry. Don’t bother putting my name on your paper… I really don’t care if I pass or not.” There. Now maybe he’ll leave, and I can go take a shower.
“I don’t accept that.”
“What?” Sometimes, I’m so witty I kill myself.
“I don’t accept that.”
Argh. What’s that supposed to mean?
“Argh,” I say. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you are doing this project with me, like it or not.”
“Uhm, yes. I’m adopted. I can’t possibly trace my traits through my parents. So we both have to use yours. And for that I need you.”
“I don’t care.” I’m starting to get really pissed now. He’s in the back of my restaurant, telling me what to do, after causing the accident that has left me dripping and gross. I don’t THINK so, pal.
“It doesn’t matter if you care. You’re going to do it. I’m not having a screw-up like you blow my chances of getting into Columbia. I’ll be here tomorrow at 8. You’re off work by then, right?”
He’s actually more worked up than I am. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Max Evans express anything, much less anger. I’m so taken aback that I just nod stupidly.
“Fine. I’ll see you then. And you had better be ready to work on this.” He storms out, leaving the ‘or else’ silently behind him.
I can’t believe that just happened. I can’t believe I’m standing in a condiment puddle. I can’t believe that my father overheard the whole thing. There will be hell to pay if I don’t at least somewhat cooperate with Max tomorrow.
I’m not dreading school tomorrow nearly as much as I am the visit from my lab partner. Kill me now.
Do you know how long it takes to get drying ketchup out of your hair? “Lather, Rise, Repeat” becomes more than a genius stroke of marketing… it becomes a necessity.
By the time I get out of the shower, the phone is ringing. Grabbing the phone, I throw myself down on the bed, wet hair flying out around me.
“You are not going to believe the day I’ve had!” See, I already know who it is. It’s Maria. No one calls me except Maria. Well, Alex calls sometimes, too, but either way, my statement is applicable.
“Well, hello to you too.” I was right. It’s Maria.
“No, seriously. I’ve had the day from hell.”
“Customers that bad, huh?”
“Well, no worse than usual. But Max Evans… ooh, I want to just kill him!”
“Max Evans? Max Evans, mystery man? Why would you want to kill him?” Maria has some weird idea that not only is Max Evans uber-hot, but that he has the hots for yours truly. Have I mentioned that my best friend is severely delusional? She should be in therapy.
“He made me drop a whole tray of ketchup bottles. The he PUSHED ME into them, so I had all this ketchup all over me. Then he YELLED at me, and called me a screw-up, and now he’s making me work on some stupid bio project with him!” There. That should lower Mr. Mystery a notch or two in Maria’s mind.
“He what?! I’m sure he didn’t push you, sweetie. At least, I don’t think he could have possibly meant to. He’s not that kind of guy.”
“How would you know? No one knows anything about him. And besides, after he pushed me, he yelled at me! Explain that!” Some best friend. I mean, I’m in serious pain and distress here, and she’s off defending him.
“Well, if he yelled at you, I’m sure it was provoked. You’re not the easiest person to get along with sometimes Lizzie. And what’s this bio project? It wouldn’t kill you to spend some time with him, you know. Find out more about him. You could write a FAQ and sell it to all the girls that follow him around all day, drooling.”
“Argh. I don’t want to do a stupid bio project. Especially with Max Evans, of all people. You of all people should understand why I don’t do homework!”
I can hear Maria sigh heavily into the phone.
“Liz, chica, you’re going to have to get over that some day. That all happened a long time ago. Don’t you think it’s time to move on?”
I’m pretending I don’t hear her.
“I better go. I’m dripping all over the bed.”
“All right. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
I hang up the phone and start my nightly ritual of staring off into space. Then I realize that I am actually dripping all over the bed. Yuck. Damn Max Evans and his stupid project!
I wasn’t always like this, you know. I used to be a straight ‘A’ student. I never had to even try for most of my classes. I loved science most of all. It was so clean, so organized, so thought provoking.
In seventh grade, things were great. I had Maria; I had a loving family. I had the admiration and respect of every teacher at Roswell Middle School. I had a ton of friends. By the end of the school year, that had all changed.
People would call me all the time; asking for help on homework, or wanting me to read over a paper to make sure they didn’t sound like a complete jackass. I didn’t mind doing it, for the most part. I would never do work for someone else, but I’d help them figure it out on their own. I had a strict no-cheating policy, and everyone knew it. No one even bothered trying to look at my paper during a test. No one bothered to ask me to cheat for them.
Until Tess Harding.
She called me up one night, in tears. She told me her mom was in the hospital… the doctors had found cancer, and it was at such an advanced stage that they couldn’t do anything about it. Her mom only had a few months to live.
I told her how sorry I was to hear about it. I mean, what do you say when you hear that someone’s mom is dying? Anyway, then she launches into the true purpose of her call. It seems that she wanted to spend as much time as she can with her mom, and just can’t find the time to do her English paper.
I told her no way. I mean, I felt bad and all that her mom had cancer, but I just wasn’t going to do her paper for her. Tess started crying again, and by the time she was finished, I had caved in and agreed to write her paper for her. Just this once I said. Don’t tell ANYONE I said.
Soon there was a science test she didn’t have time to study for, math homework she couldn't figure out – and could I just do it for her, so she could have that time to spend with her mom? I was doing everything for her, because I felt sorry for her. I mean, what would I do if my mom were dying?
Three months, I did all of her work for her on top of my own. Who knows how long that would have gone on if I hadn’t overheard her laughing with Pam Troy in the bathroom?
“Ha ha. I have Lizzie Parker doing all of my work for me. I’ll be sure to get straight ‘A’s this semester, and then my dad will have to send me to California for the summer.”
“How did you manage that? Liz Parker doesn’t cheat for anyone!”
“Oh, I told her my mom has cancer and is dying, like any day now. She totally bought it!”
“Oh, you are so mean! Heehee.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! She had lied! Tess had made the entire thing up, just to get out of some lousy homework, and to get her dad to send her on some trip for the summer! I stepped out of the stall, ready to kill.
“Tess, you lying bitch! How could you?!”
“Oh, Liz. You heard me.” She didn’t even have the decency to look guilty.
“This stops now. I’m not doing anything for you anymore.”
“Oh, I think you will. See, if you don’t do exactly what I say, I’m going to tell everyone that you’ve been doing homework for me. I’ll tell your teachers and your parents. I tell them that you begged me to let you, because you wanted to be my friend. Everyone will know that you’re a cheater.”
I was flabbergasted. She couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t do that to me, would she? I mean, everyone would know that she was cheating too.
“Well, they’ll know that you were cheating, too. Don’t be stupid Tess.”
“I don’t care if they do. I won’t get in nearly as much trouble as you will. Little Lizzie Parker, teacher’s pet. No one will trust you anymore. No teacher will give you the time of day. Your parents will kill you, whereas mine will do nothing to me.”
I still refused, and the next day, a couple kids came up to me, asking me if I wanted to be their friend bad enough to do their homework for them. I knew then that she was serious. Tess Harding was blackmailing me, and there was nothing I could do about it.
For the rest of that year and the next, I did everything Tess wanted me to. Fairly soon, I was doing Pam and Courtney’s homework too. My grades started slipping. Some of my friends stopped talking me to because I didn’t have time to hang out with them anymore. And Tess laughed at me the whole time.
Finally, we were about to start high school. I vowed I would make it stop. We were going into a new school, with new teachers. I could make a fresh start. It turned out that Tess didn’t think the same way I did. The first day of 9th grade, she stopped by my locker, ready to dump off her homework the same way she had for the past two years. When I told her I wasn’t going to do it anymore, she just looked at me and dumped her books by my feet and walked away. I left them there and went home.
That night, I came up with a plan. I just wouldn’t do her work. And I wouldn’t do mine either, so she’d have nothing to copy off of. Let her try to tell on me. No one would believe her if I never turned anything in.
Needless to say, Tess was livid when she came by to pick up her homework. She vowed to get back at me. I didn’t care what she said anymore. I was tired of being used. By the time Tess’s family moved away later that year, I have decided to simply not bother with school at all anymore. I would never put myself in a position where I could be used like that again. Never.
Maria says I should just get over it. But she has no idea what it felt like. To be trapped because I thought I was helping someone out. It still hurts too much. And yes, I’m also still very bitter. Maybe college will be different. Who knows? All I know is that high school is not worth bothering with. People just can’t be trusted.
Oh, and Tess? Well, I heard last year that her mom really did get cancer. That’ll teach her to fuck with karma.
Anyway, I need to get to sleep. I have a study date with Max Evans tomorrow. God help us all.
It’s amazing. The one day I want school to drag on, and it doesn’t. I mean, even Boring and Worthless is going quickly. How is this possible? Then again, that’s just the way my day seems to be going. I had a run-in with Mr. Mystery today during bio. It went something like this:
Max: So, are you ready to work on our project tonight?
Max: Where do you want to work? We could meet at the library, or at the Crash, or at my place…
Max: Liz, you are going to actually have to talk to me at some point, you realize.
Max: (sigh) Fine. I will meet you at the Crashdown at the end of your shift. You will be ready to work, or I will pull you out of there by your hair and drag you behind my Jeep until you are ready… understood?
Me: (turning to make eye contact for the first time) Bite me.
Max: Good, we have that settled then.
OOOH. Can you believe the nerve of him? Pull me by my hair and drag me behind some shitty Jeep? Who does he think he is? And Maria says I’m difficult… that he’s not the sort of guy that would push me into a mountain of ketchup. I bet Max Evans is the type of guy who pulls the legs off spiders and drowns newborn kittens. In fact, I bet he’s a future serial killer. They say it’s always the quiet types, with a history of small animal mutilation.
I have no idea what the moronic girls in this school see in him. Always following him around, trying to get him to pay attention to them. Stupid sheep. I mean, sure, he’s got a decent build. And really pretty eyes. And nice, strong hands… I bet those girls would think twice about throwing themselves at him if they knew of his pushing-hair pulling-car dragging-spider leg pulling-kitten drowning-future serial killer ways!
What’s worse is that I really don’t know how to get out of working with him on this. My dad pulled my aside this morning, and really read me the riot act. Seems that if I don’t cooperate with Max on this assignment, I’ll be pulling double shifts at the Crash all summer. I won’t have access to the car (not like I really do now, anyway). They will take my phone away. They will wall up my balcony. And worst, the will publish my full name in the graduation announcements in the town paper. How unfair is that? All over some stupid assignment with stupid Max Evans.
And, get this. He’s going to check up on me. I’m sure he’s called the school already to find out the details of the project. And then he’s going to know that I can’t do it without interviewing him and mom. I am so stuck. I’m being blackmailed again, only this time it’s by my own parents. Isn’t there a law against that? If there isn’t, there should be. Cruel and unusual punishment, that’s what it is. I just don’t understand what’s so important about this one particular assignment that they feel the need to threaten me like this. I should call Child Services on them. That would teach them to blackmail me!
Looking at the clock on the wall above the door, I realize there’s only 5 minutes of school left. Add to that 4 hours of servicing the teaming masses in an alien head apron and antennas, and then god-knows-how-long with Mr. Max Evans. I slump down into my chair even farther, and let my skull hit the back of the headrest, groaning low in my throat the whole time. No one pays particular attention to this, as they are used to me slumping and groaning at this time of day. What they don’t realize is that this time, I really, really mean it. My life cannot get much worse.
“Hello, My name is Liz and I’ll be your waitress today. Can I get you something to drink, or are you ready to order?” That’s what I’m supposed to say each time I greet a new customer. Only, it comes out more like “llomynameislizillbeyourwaitressdaycanigetyousomethingtodrinkorreyoueadytaorder?” and I never make eye contact. That’s an important fact about being a waitress: no eye contact. The less eye contact you make, the less likely people are to ask you for something. Sure, the tips aren’t as good, but as long as I don’t have to run around for an extra glass of water or some condiment in a little cup on the side, I’m a happy girl. Well, relatively.
Where was I? Oh, yeah.
“Hello, My name is Liz and I’ll be your waitress today. Can I get you something to drink, or are you ready to order?”
“Hey Liz.” That voice sounds really familiar, and I break my cardinal rule by looking up from my order pad.
“Max! I’m not done with my shift yet.” See, so witty. Here’s my current moral enemy, and I’m here sounding like some silly breathy schoolgirl.
“I know. I thought I’d grab something to eat first. I’d like a Galaxy Sub and a Cherry Coke. Oh, and a bottle of Tabasco.”
“Sure. You want anything?” I was so irritated at Max that it took me a minute to realize that Michael Guerin was sitting across from him. That shouldn’t surprise me, considering that they always come in together.
“Saturn Rings and a Cherry Coke.” I should probably mention that Michael doesn’t actually speak like a normal person. He grunts. It’s taken me years to be able to understand exactly what he wants when he orders. I have no idea why Max hangs around him. Unless they’re in some kitten killing cult together, or something. That would make sense.
I turn to place their orders when the annoying bell above the door rings. I glance over to it, hoping Martha, the another waitress is coming in early so I can ditch out on waiting on Max. No such luck. In sweeps Isabel Evans, Max’s twin sister, looking every bit the supermodel. And every bit the raging bitch, but both are standard operating procedure for Isabel. As she marches over towards Max and Michael’s booth, I steal a glance over to Maria and Alex who have been talking about the set list for an upcoming gig their band has. Maria is now standing with her hands on her hips, scowling at Isabel. Alex, on the other hand, has a look of dazed wonder on his face and is practically drooling as Isabel walks by him.
Maria and I just don’t get the fascination Alex has with her. She’s nothing but mean, mean, mean, especially to Alex. Well, I guess she’s never actually said anything mean to him. Come to think of it, I don’t think she’s actually ever said anything to him at all. But she’s just mean and aloof to everyone. Before he developed this crush/obsession thing, Alex used to be the treasurer for the ‘We Hate Isabel’ club. This was before the ‘We Hate Tess’ club, of which is he also the treasurer. Needless to say, we just don’t understand this sick thing he has for her. It’s against all laws of God and man, I tell you!
Isabel is now talking to Max and Michael using quiet tones but expressive arm movements. Max starts to gesture wildly, and even Michael has a surprised look on his face instead of his usual scowl. I don’t think I’ve ever seen any of them that… animated before, and especially not all at once. The conversation comes to an abrupt halt as Max and Michael get up from the table. As they head to the door, Max calls over her shoulder to me.
“Hey Liz, cancel our order. Something’s come up. We’ll have to start on bio tomorrow.”
With that, the annoying bell rings again, the door slams shut, and I’m standing here slightly slackjawed.
I’ve just been stood up on my forced study date with Max Evans. I should be thrilled. So, why aren’t I?
“What was he thinking, running out of here like that?” Maria and I are standing behind the front counter of the Crash, watching the clock until we get to punch out. The place is pretty dead, so there’s not much else to do.
“I know. Queen Bitch Isabel snaps her little fingers, and he just leaves.” Maria has joined me in my gripe-feast. Ha! She’s having second thoughts on what a great guy Max Evans is now.
“I just don’t see what was so important. I don’t get how that woman can make every man her willing slave!”
“I know. I thought Michael had more taste than that!”
“Michael? Who’s talking about him? I thought we were talking about Max.” I glance over at Maria and realize she’s starting to turn a bright shade of pink.
“Max! Of course. Why, did I say Michael? Uhm, I wasn’t thinking about him at all.”
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much. What’s up? Have you got a thing for Michael?” This is so much more fun than complaining about Max. Besides, that will keep. This Michael thing, on the other hand, needs to be exposed and examined immediately.
“No! I mean, not really.” Maria is starting to squirm, and she’s twirling her hair around her index finger – something she only does when she’s lying.
“Liar!” I point to her traitorous hand.
“Well, I mean, have you seen his art? It’s just so… I don’t know. There’s just something about it.”
“’Ria, honey, you realize the man speaks in grunts, right? I don’t think I’ve actually ever heard him enunciate anything.” I really don’t think I have. I wonder how he gets through life like that. Maybe they have developed telepathy in their kitten-killing cult, and Max and Michael can talk to each other with their minds. Ok, that sounds a little far-fetched, even to me.
“I know. Good thing I don’t want to talk to him, huh?” There goes the blush again…
“Oh, no. No talking. You have other things planned for that mouth, don’t you?” I duck as Maria throws a wet rag at my head. Laughing, I run through the kitchen door and into the back room. Just as I get to the timeclock, it makes it little “thunking” noise that lets me know it’s time to go. I slip my card into the little slot, wait for the little stamp to smack into it, and race upstairs calling “Call me!” to Maria.
Finally upstairs. I slam and lock the door to my room. Not that the little cheap lock would actually stop anyone, but at least it would serve as notice that I wished to be alone. Ick. I’m still in my uniform, and I smell like fries. Shower time!
Once again, I’m dripping wet and the phone is ringing. It’s gotta be Maria. Like I said, no one else besides Alex calls me.
“Ooohh, Michael…” I breathe seductively into the phone. I’ve never been one for a simple “hello”, anyway.
“Uhm, Liz?” Wait. Wait wait wait. This is not Maria.
“Hello. This is Max Evans. May I please speak to Liz Parker?”
“Uh, hi Max. I thought you were Maria…” I sound lame. I know I sound lame. Oh, god.
“Uhm, then why were you saying Michael?” Good question there, Maxie-boy. Damn! If I let this slip, Maria is going to kill me.
“Oh, it was just part of an inside joke from earlier in the shift. Tee-hee.” Could I sound more fake and stupid? I don’t think so, either.
“Uhm, ok. Whatever. Look. When do you get off work tomorrow?” Did he buy that? Yes! I think he did!
“Same time as always.”
“Fine. I’ll meet you at the Crash at 8 then.” My, my. He was sounding awfully smug for someone who stood me up for his sister earlier today. Wait. Does that make him really suck, or me really suck?
“Listen, Mr. Evans. You’re the one who stood me up. You’re going to have to try a lot harder than that. Remember you need me, not the other way around. I could care less if you flunked.” Ha! There. That’ll teach him to threaten me.
“I’m sorry about leaving like that. Something important just came up. I promise, tomorrow we get this thing done and we can both get back to our lives.”
“Yeah, I’m sure Isabel had something really important to drag you off to… like a sale.” Woo-hoo! I do believe that was actually witty! Score one for Parker! Wait. Max sounds really tired. I was expecting pissed, peeved, steamed, sarcastic, biting, downright mean… but I wasn’t expecting tired.
“Liz, you don’t know the first thing about Isabel, and you don’t know the first thing about me. So let it go, ok?”
“Uh, geez. Sorry. Didn’t mean to hit a nerve there, Maxie-boy.” Maria is right. Sometimes I just can’t let stuff go.
“((sigh)) I’ll see you tomorrow”
“Oh, and Liz?”
“You were wrong. You do need me.”
All I hear is the gently buzzing of the dial tone. He hung up on me. And he left me bewildered again. What’s a girl to do?
Apparently, a girl is supposed to lair, cheat, steal, rape, pillage and plunder. Well, that’s what my dad thinks I’m capable of. He’s currently yelling at me for “refusing to help that nice Evans boy” and “being rude and insufferable” and a host of other uncomplimentary and untrue things. Well, most of them are untrue.
“And furthermore, Liz, I expect – “
“Elizabeth, will you please stop interr-“
“What is it, Liz?”
“Max Evans cancelled on me. He needed to help his sister, or something. I didn’t do anything, I swear.”
“Don’t lie to me, Elizabeth. I am not in the mood.”
“I’m not lying. Call Maria, she was there. Call Alex. Call Max freakin’ Evans! They will all tell you the same thing. He stood me up for our little study date!”
“You had better be telling me the truth, young lady.” I just love it when he calls me young lady.
“Sure thing, dad.” I turn and start to wander back to my room as he picks up the phone. I know he’s calling Max. He’d never believe anything Maria or Alex said, even if it was 100% the truth. I briefly fantasize about my dad running up to my room after me, begging me for forgiveness. I soon dismiss that as a lame fantasy and throw myself down on my bed.
‘You do need me.’ echoed through my head for the millionth time.
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
[ edited 1 time(s), last at 26-Jun-2002 1:13:01 PM ]