IT'S COMPLICATED -- MARCUS BAKER

Oppression Olympics - 15

(A/N): He guys, I'm moving some of the plot line around for this episode to fit with my plot, so don't be alarmed if things aren't as you remembered them to be

"Hi, Zion." He looked so happy as he saw them. His children. "Oh my God. Y/n! Ginny! Oh, look at you! You're so big." He reached down and grabbed the both of them with both arms. "Where the hell have you been? You took off in the night."

"We called the cops. We looked everywhere." I looked around the room, as if it was gonna help me with my apology. "I'm sorry." He still looked angry with me.

"You're sorry? You're sorry? Is that all you have to say to me?" He dropped the two kids back on the floor and tapped their backs, as if to tell them to got to another room. They saw toys on the floor, though, so they toddled off to play with them.

"You're sorry."

I nodded, bewildered that he was so upset, as if he didn't want to essentially give them away. "Yes. You were gonna let your parents just take control of them. We were gonna lose her." His eyes widened, "So, you left?" He hit the wall with the back of his hand as his hands reached out for anything he could grab. "Damn it, I'm her dad! I'm her dad."

I'm sorry. 

"I made a mistake."

--

"And that's the place that most defines me...my home with my family and my guitar." I kicked my feet up on my table as Hunter finished reading his essay. Bo-ring. That shit sucked. "I whispered to Maxine, "A third grader wrote that shit for him. My lovely guitar, for songs about my lovely girlfriend." She giggled and slapped me, "Rude!" I shrugged, I honestly couldn't care less. The Hunter Hate club was the best place to be. "Next up, uh, Ginny Miller."

"Growing up, I thought that..." She took a deep breath, her hands shaking. "Growing up, I thought people were born with their heads cocked because that's how they've always looked at me. Boxes...check one, check other. People don't know. They don't furrow between the layers like I do. They don't switch and twitch and actively make the decisions of which...which part of me belongs today? Which aspect of my personality will offend the least and blend the most, and work and succeed and bury the lead like a switchboard of traits that decide my fate, and I'm always an impostor? Always lost, always asking for directions, and people point my way like the scarecrow. Like tornadoes blowing me whichever way the wind blows. Well, Dorothy doesn't want to play today. She's prepping for the SAT. Just the Scantron. The box is empty, and glaring and daring me to choose one. Well, I'm an expert at boxes. My whole life can fit inside it, and I've got it down to a science. I can pack my entire identity in an hour 'cause where there's roots, there's power, but I'm all topsoil. My blood runs like water and oil refusing to stick. My dad's old books, read in secret nooks. That camera that locks all my memories in a flash, saved for when my recollection doesn't last. That lighter that sparked that fire. All fit in a box ready to be carried from door to door. But that's not the kind of box people ever ask for. So many lines in the sand, so many cants and cans. I see both worlds so clearly, and I skip and jump and dance and fall between, never seen. I belong in the spaces between. Check all that may apply."

Damn, period. I was mad as fuck at her still, don't get me wrong, but I was always mad at Ginny. And her poem was great. Notice how I said poem. It was outstanding, but not an essay. She should've asked me for my opinion again, because I would've given her my full and honest opinion and maybe she could've won. Maxine's mouth was wide open, like many others in the class, including Hero Hair Hunter. "Oh my God! Hello? Yeah!"

Our teacher stacked all the essays and read the winners out to the class. "And the winners are...Hunter Chen and Y/n Miller. Hunter will be submitted to the more local contest, while Y/n will be immediately submitted to the national competition." I kicked my feet of the desk and smiled at my paper. I gotta say thank you to Austin. 

"You were robbed," Maxine said as we left. Hunter walked up, "Hey." She said 'hi' back and he asked her if there were any hard feelings. She responded that they were 'good,' a load of crap, and went back into the classroom. After a few minutes , she came back out. " Apparently, Hunter's essay was paced well. It had a beginning, middle, and end, and it fit within the parameters of what goes on to win at the regional level. And mine was too 'unconventional.'" She saw no need to ask about mine, as it was obviously great. "What do you think?"