Teen Rebellion // S.R. ✓

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

(warnings: mentions of drug abuse, needles, eating disorder)*

A feeling of relief washed over you when the three-letter word was spoken through the phone. He's welcoming, but angry. Not with you or Pen, but with your mother. He said she was a "disgrace," and in his words, "not fit to be a mother." You 100% agreed with him and felt no sense of remorse for saying anything behind her back. She deserved it, plain and simple.

You will only be there for the weekend and most likely Monday, maybe Tuesday, but not for long because you've already missed a week of school. You thought about emailing your counselor issuing your absence and asking if there was any way you could make up your missing assignments, but for now you don't want to worry about anything.

Penelope has rushed back to her room, gathering her clothing, bows, large heels and everything she needs to be the center of attention in Manhattan. Everyone there looks normal, besides the drug addicts that shoot heroin and methamphetamines' into their arms between the hundreds of substitute pathways.

Those people are normal in New York, no one notices them, but to anyone who doesn't live in the state, it's quite scary seeing someone stick a needle into their arm in the middle of the day on a substitute sidewalk. The times you've gone to New York, you passed a long hallway- built due to construction- and found a homeless person tying a rubber band around their arm.

They stand out, but New Yorkers don't care nor notice. But when they see Penelope running around in sparkly high heels and outfits that make her look like she belongs in the M&M shop, they will definitely stare. Or maybe they won't, because it's New York, after all and most people there have different styles.

You've begun packing your bag, throwing random clothing and your basic sneakers that won't make your feet hurt. You would rather ride the subway than drive around the city, it's quicker in your opinion. Inserting money into the stupid metro cards would be a pain, but you aren't the one that will be spending their money on them; it'll be your dad.

You drag your large black backpack on the floor, setting it next to your large oak dresser. You pull out the first drawer, grabbing a couple of underwear and bras, throwing them into the bag. You then bend down to the second drawer, pulling it out and grabbing a couple of shirts- band shirts, small tee's, t-shirts stolen from Spencer- throwing them in along with the other bunched up clothing.

Spencer has gone home, telling you that he'll call when he's ready for you to pick him up. He said he was coming and he didn't want to argue about it. You weren't going to argue with him though because you wanted him to come with you. Your dad has met Spencer before, but ages ago in freshman year when he was a boy that wore glasses two sizes too big for his small face.

Though you were almost going to force Spencer to tag along, a part in your body almost wanted to stop yourself from doing so. Spencer's mom has schizophrenia and she seems to be getting worse as the years go by. He is practically the only person who cares for her, besides a care lady who passes by every now and then. He says she'll be fine, that he'll call her caretaker and she'll come by every day for her daily meds and what not, but you still feel somewhat guilty for bursting news about a quick trip to a different state.

But you won't argue with him, like both of you said.

You stand up straight and fish through your perfumes, lotions and deodorant. You grab your favorite matching perfume and lotion and stick them into a pocket outside of your bag, along with your stick of deodorant.

You reach down and open the second drawer, taking out a couple of balled up socks. You throw them in as well, then you zip the bag, struggling as you do so from all of the clothes. I shouldn't have packed so much, you tell yourself, pressing down on the bag and lifting the zipper up as you go.