“No, Mom, what are you talking about?” My innocent little angel act had no effect on her.
“You’re an hour late, and you reek of—” I saw her sniff my sweatshirt suspiciously. “Smoke. What the hell is that?” All of a sudden, she turned into a fierce bloodhound.
“Mom, other people around me were vaping, maybe that’s why I smell like it.”
“Right. Because there’s no law prohibiting vaping in public places, right? Do you think I was born yesterday?”
“Is it my fault if other people smoked?”
Rage contorted her face into even more wrinkles than normal. She threw her reading glasses onto the couch and tore me a new one.
“All right, well you’re not going anywhere like that again!”
“But . . .”
I didn’t have the energy to argue; I just wanted to go to bed.
“Do your new friends vape?”
“I’m seventeen, and I don’t vape. If one of my new friends did, why would you have an issue with that? It’s not like we’re little girls.”
“The problem is that you came home an hour late, you’re talking back to me like that, and you smell like a frat house,” she yelled, making me laugh.
“I’m going to bed. I have school tomorrow.” I cut her off.
“June!”
I bolted upstairs.
The next morning, I rolled out of bed at a snail’s pace. I didn’t hear the alarm go off, but unlike what usually happens, my mom didn’t come to wake me up.
Was she still pissed at me about last night? This was a clear declaration of war.
“Mom! Why didn’t you wake me up?” I shouted down the hall, in the middle of a meltdown.
I hadn’t been at this school for even a week and I was already risking getting marked down. I brushed my teeth with one hand and took my pajamas off with the other.
“You’re seventeen. You’re not a kid anymore. Or am I wrong? If you don’t hear the alarm, it’s certainly not my fault,” I heard her mock me from downstairs. This was her favorite parenting technique to use: waves of resentment packaged in the form of clichés.
“You have to write me a note excusing me. I’m so late that I’ll miss first period,” I whined as we headed off in the car. I couldn’t function without breakfast.
“You’ll figure it out. With great power comes great responsibility. Start getting used to it, June.
“You didn’t even brush your hair, and—” My mom looked at me from head to toe and stared at my clothes. “Where’s your uniform?” she demanded as she pulled over by the school gate.
My eyes widened as I realized that I’d forgotten to put on my uniform. But we were already at school, and a half hour late to boot. Mom and I said goodbye quickly, and I ran toward the entrance. It was weird to see the hallways completely empty and hear my footsteps echo against the walls. Without a note justifying my being late, I dawdled at my locker. I didn’t want to walk into class right in the middle of it. I wasn’t in the mood to get told off, and I certainly wasn’t in the mood to have the whole class staring at me.
A dull thud startled me, bringing me back to reality. James Hunter punched his locker door again but it still wouldn’t open.
He hit it again. I shivered. At that point, the locker opened, and James flung the door back and threw his cell phone inside. I saw him use his palms to massage the nape of his neck, which was bruised from last night’s events. He either didn’t realize I was there or chose to ignore me.
I didn’t want to admit it, but deep down I felt guilty for punching him. It had been the culmination of all the frustration and irritation that he’d provoked throughout the evening.
I moved closer.
Hunter was wearing a pair of track pants and a white hoodie.
“James?”
