• I’m an artist, a very good one. You might say I’m crafty and smart. But those are traits of a fox.

    My talent came into view when my dad tried to get me into sports. My grandma took me to a music place and introduced me to a lady. I could never remember her name. By the time I got interested in music and art, I saw my dad didn’t want anything to do with me before I became a creative freak. Dad always told stories about his sports days.

    By the time I was fourteen, I noticed my dad never talked to me a lot. He was always lost in his paintings and art dealings. He still took me to sports games but he never went to any music recitals I had. My mom was always interested. I went to her to talk.

    Fifteen, my dad was out of the house and divorced from my mom. She wouldn’t stop crying for days.
    “Why did this happen?”
    I left her alone in silence or in her room crying. She became an alcoholic for a few weeks, met Steven at a bar.

    I never know much about Steven until all the girl gossip I had with mom. Every time I listened, I felt like Gossip Gertie from those Batman movies. Steven Princeton was a man who never dated. He had a wife, but died three hours later prior to Darrian’s birth. He was a single father. He enjoyed music and any talent, but he was like me dad. Objective: Sports with a capital “s”.

    Two months later, he’s showing up at my house to meet me. I’m playing my music piece until I hear him laugh and comment about my playing.
    “How long have you been playing that instrument? Sounds like you can tame those keys.”
    “Seven years why do you ask?”
    We never talked a lot but he was supportive about me music skills. The good thing was I never got to go to a game Darrian had. I never officially met him until he moved in.
    “Excuse me, where is the room I have for my bedroom?”
    He was so cocky and ignorant I never answered him. I told him to follow me up the stairs-he must have got it confused from the signal, only to mean “let’s get laid”.

    Darrian Princeton, he’s a junior but he hasn’t had a birthday yet. His middle name is Jarred-spelled exactly like the adult women jewelry store. Every girl wants to date him because he’s on the lacrosse team at school. One time he held a party in my house-well, our house as mom corrects me-and introduced me to the captain of the lacrosse team. Rubin was everything a girl can ask for. His looks were just as pleasing as his manners. He went into hinky mode when he tried to get me to like him into saying yes. If there was another war going on, I wish the Atom Bomb killed me on the spot. People in the community know Rubin and his family well. Anyone new that moved in, they immediately go for the kill. It makes me gag about the time he wouldn’t stop messing around with me. He’s never dated, so mothers are competing to get him to date a daughter. I think this place is turning into a drunken play. But I’ve heard from his mom that the Barnes never take a “no” for an answer. I continued to ignore him at the party until my mom came home.
    “What happened?
    I picked up cups and plates and cardboard boxes.
    “Darrian did it.”
    She was red. By the look on her face she wanted to yell at Darrian and lay down the rules.

    My social life at school never got better. Girls and students in my classes were asking about my new dad.
    “Step-dads are nice. I don’t know why you reject him.”
    I stared her down and went back to my book. Mr. Ablash, my science teacher, said that maybe Darrian can help me. I get Bs in his classes al the time. He wishes I was getting As.

    On lacrosse matches, I stayed with Darrian after school because he was my ride home. The other players noticed me now and I’ve been getting a lot of compliments. Since when have I been paid this much attention? I assume it’s because my step-brother is really dreamy. I have a car but Steven bought it and paid for the refurbishing. It was supposed to be, my gothic and amazing ’73 black bug. Mom hates that I haven’t been driving it since I got my license. Inside my black bug: was leather-black-seats, a new radio, a newly furbished gear shifter that was in Darrian’s’ Corvette. The kind that goes in cars like Altimas and Trail Blazers some families have. O the front was a batman symbol. My mom told Steven about my love for Batman movies and cartoons. He thought I would enjoy driving it. I went back inside when I saw Steve drive the car into the garage. It was actually a carriage house out back but we use it to store the cars. Steven drives a Mustang G4, complete with blue and white racing stripes and stick shift. He knows how to drive a stick shift-I hope I can afford my own casket one day. My mom owns a regular car. A mom car. A red Subaru Van. She needs the space for her files and work clients if they have no use of transportation. I enjoyed that car but my dad was very cool. Daddy Parish owned an Ashton Martin and it was purple too. I liked it because I also have a passion for the James Bond movies I watch on television.

    Home is my sanctuary and my refuge from school and issues. Before I used to draw and be in an art club, I withdrew to my books and skin. I would write down on my skin, some love quotes. I accidentally picked up my fabric scissors and started carving the quote into my skin. I wore jeans for weeks until it healed. I went back to doing it, but I used my sewing pin. Blood surfaced like a scab on your knew would bleed. I took a sweaty finger and wiped a few splatters and tasted it for myself. I eventually stopped and began drawing. My English teacher says to my parents I should be in a writing club. I tell Ms. Calcman that I will never fit in. She recites a quote form Monty Python and went back to her speech. I resided to my sketchbook and drew a wilting daisy.

    In the cemetery by my favorite café store, I would sketch the willow tress near the banks of a pond. When I get close to the pond, I draw the water lilies next. Though I’m not as good as Monet, I still like his paintings and scenery. When I was a kid my grandma buys a book on Monet. I look at his paintings and his photos so much of his life was kind of happy. The only part that sucked was; he was a new artist at the time.

    Java Jive if my favorite café. Sometimes me and Darrian go there for a bite and work on homework. He works on his essay for English and I work on my Geometry. I must say that only at times, we never get along but when we do, I call him Mars. If we ever try to say “sis” or “bro”, we often start arguing. Girls always hear us say that to each other.
    “Can’t you guys ever get along?”
    “We are getting along; we just talk to each other like this.”
    “That’s kind of ridiculous. I think you guys should go see a counselor.”
    “No thanks.”
    “Oh well, I tried.”
    People who act like that just get on my nerves. I guess that’s why I have no friends.

    There are days I wish my dad stayed here. I couldn’t help it if I was different. There were a lit of fun times I had with dad. He would always treat me when mom stayed late in Washington. He took me to his office once. I felt like dad didn’t hate me of he just simply wanted to see me the office he had as manager.

    Parish Enterprise is a type of office space for more personal things. They have an Enterprise in music production. Most of the time I go there they never give me a discount. I always storm out and then hide in my room.

    My mom throws parties now. She never used to, maybe Steven is doing her some good. In the future, they might still be together. Somehow though at the parties, mom doesn’t get drunk anymore. That’s a good thing. Instead she has people bring their kids.
    “My little girl needs some friends in her life. I just wish she was more of a social person.”
    I hear that phrase all the time. It makes you feel that you just can’t make your parents happy. If there’s one thing; my mom would be first one the list.

    There are a lot of nice hangouts here, but I prefer the ones who usually have more taste.

    The 60’s diner is called Music Spot. The diner is an ok place. The laminate floor is a colorful rainbow. The bathrooms smell like pot and everyone who works here is a well known hemp person. The seats are a green color and the tables are lime to represent acid. The bar is filled with pictures and outfits from the hippie past. I occasionally hang at Music Spot so I can get away from everything. Not that I’m into all this stuff. I brought Darrian to the diner, he fell in love. Steven came here once, walked out immediately.

    Reggae Muffins is a thrift store that I buy all my clothes. It sits across the street from a boutique name Finger-line Figures. The store showcases a lot of models in expensive dresses. Reggae Muffins is so much better for me because I can have choices. I go there by myself. Steven flips out at the times I come hoe with the bags full of thrift clothing. Since when does he care?

    Franklin High is a more conservative and corporate school. Most of the students who attend come from rich families. (That’s my background in case you haven’t noticed). There are a lot of guys on the lacrosse team. All of them are Darrian’s buddies he does everything with. Gump is a nice guy if you are on his good side. He helped me once when I had too any books in my hand. I fell down and books went crazy. Gump is only nice because I’ve got Darrian living in my house. Sometimes you wish he never existed. Rubin is a total a*****e guy. He has girls but they end up in Darrian’s bed. He’s an a** for one thing: major sex addict and sexual offender. He was drunk once and he had his hands al over one girl. Rubin punched her in the jaw because she wouldn’t shut up. Then her dad had a restraining order put on him and nothing happened over all the next year.

    Eventually, I will open up to Steven. For now, I would want him to know I’m not interested in talking to him. Yet I hear him behind closed doors talking to my mom about me. She advises him it’s a phase, but he thinks otherwise. I never want to know why he still ignores it. Why is there a problem with giving me some space? Surely, he can just try that.

    I always have thoughts on why my parents divorced. My mom never wants to talk about it. She gives me the silent treatment.
    “Your father was into dealing with things.”
    I thought it was what I was doing. I even asked him in am e-mail hot it happened. His answer: business gets the best of me. I change the subject to papa. He says he's doing fine.

    My grandma is a nice person to hangout with. She loved me when I wore my first homemade Valentines outfit. It might still be framed in her living room. That was only when I was about five. Mom made that outfit.

    I took upon the sewing. So far I have made my own skirts and dresses. There was one I liked. It was a dress I made when I was twelve. I picked up a swab of musical fabric and sat down on the sewing table. I worked on it day and day. I placed it on myself and spun around in the mirror. It was a floor length dress. It had a matching plain brown strap across the middle.

    When everything is quiet, I like to place myself down at the sewing table and sew my fabric. Sometimes the hum makes me sleepy-I drink tea and I stay energized. If I get bored, I go to my easel and pick up a blank canvas and start painting. I swirl colors together and create a mood on a painting. I have had three on display at the school for selling. The money goes into the school ATM. Somehow; I wish my life was a painting. Just a happy moment caught in oil. I’m smiling and stuck between my parents. My arms around their waist. The thought makes me smile. If only my parents were still together, I could have painted a love portrait. Bright hues of pink and purple. A splash of red in the shape of a heart. Now, the thought is on hold. I’m sure my real dad comes back home soon. The divorce will never be permissible.