𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐲'𝐬 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞

07 | 𝐵𝑎𝑑 𝐼𝑛𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒

"Aren't they just, beautiful?" she boasted, the astonishment in her expression more prominent when she raised the inanimate objects to eye level, studying and admiring the detail.

"They're wine glasses," I responded, but I did understand the idea of it. They looked very nice, the usual wine glass shape with intricate designs climbing up the base and to the lip. "Mom, I'm kinda being serious here?" I reminded her with an edge to my words. It was probably the fifth time she diverged from the conversation at hand since I'd gotten home.

"And I heard you the first several times," she uttered with distance, beginning to turn around and walk over to the mahogany cabinets.

Our kitchen was homey, unlike Victor's, which was dull and sad--ours had dark colors with a mixture of granite countertops, coated in ivory gloss and black and brown specks. There were wooden bar stools surrounding the island, creating a U-shaped kitchen.

I tried remembering, but Victor's fridge was bare, naked, and like I said, not-homey. Kayla's house was cozy, Jay's house was cozy, even Sullivan's large mansion had some homey components to it, though it was splattered in Wyoming wealth, which basically consisted of a lot of oak, cobblestone, and deer heads. We had a deer head in our living room, and Kayla's house stole all of McDonald's 'farm.'

"I'm thinking," my mom sharply hissed, opening the cabinet door parallel from me. She hung the wine glasses upside down, closed the door, and turned back to me. "You said what now?"

"Can I have Liv over? Sullivan? My Crush?" I eagerly recalled, as if claiming he was my crush would do something beneficial, but she only pressed a thin finger to her lip before pivoting towards the stovetop on my right hand side. There was a thin sheet along the granite countertop with a kitchen hood above it.

She messed with the contents in the pan before turning on her heel. "A boy over at this house? No."

"Mom, Jay comes over all the time."

She huffed. "Yeah, but that's different. Jay's... Jay," she croons. "You and Kayla call him a brother from another mother in front of him all the time," she expressed with a grimace.

"But Mom--"

"Why can't you guys work on a school project at school?" she assuredly replied, "hence, school project?" She put a firm hand on her hip and arched a brow at me.

"Because," I started sheepishly. "We can work on it in school, but it'll be a lot easier if we just get it done after since class time won't be able to cover it all. It's a difficult project that involves us watching five different movies from five different years or decades--"

She dropped her hand and hunched over the countertop inquisitively. "Say what?" she retorted. "Explain this to me one more time."

"We have to gather five different movies. These are just examples, but one from the start of the 1900s, one from the 1930s, the 1950s, and so on, up to the 2000s. They all have to be the same genre and we have to compare and contrast them," I explained sorrowfully. Reflecting over my future presentation, already tired from it.

"This sounds pointless," my mom ridiculed, leaning away from the counter as another heap of steam blew off of the pan. "What's the point?"

"Well, apparently we have to compare their messages and repetition in history---"

"This is English class?" she asked again, sounding more confused than me. I nodded when she looked over her shoulder, twisting the fabric of the apron tighter around her waist while four consecutive knocks sounded at the door. We heard it swing inwards, howling winds hissing through the entryway rebelliously.