˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ❥
You: "My favs...from the 90s...all in one book? Attending high school? How could that work?"
Me: "I guess ya confused ass gotta read to find out!"
It's giving...drama, humor, and surprises!
⎯⎯ ୨୧ ⎯⎯
- 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 �...
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Karter's Residence
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"Congratulations, Babygirl!" Mom yelled out with such joy. She happily set a plate full of bacon on the table and kissed me on my head before swiftly turning on her heels and heading toward the stove.
Marques, dad, and I shared the same puzzled look at the table as we watched the woman cheerfully hum to Anita Baker's song, Caught Up In The Rapture, softly playing in the background, flipping a pancake in the skillet.
"Diane, just what in the hell are we 'congratulating' exactly?" Dad asked with an arched brow.
Most of the time, we aren't on the same page about many things, but I guess this is the day hell froze over cause I'm hella confused.
"Dream going into her senior year of high school, of course! This is a big deal." She eagerly stated.
Every year—since first grade, mom would cook my favorite in the morning to celebrate moving up to the next level in school. It was cute in the beginning. She would have giant decorations and streamers hanging everywhere in the kitchen like it was my birthday or some shit.
But then, as I got older, the sweet gesture grew old along with it, but that didn't stop her from continuing the tradition anyways. It was a battle convincing her to give up the damn noise makers and party hats she forced us to wear.
The woman sat the golden pancake on top of the stack of others and walked over towards the decorative table, setting it down and sitting next to the empty seat next to me with a pout.
"What's wrong, baby? You used to be excited when I cooked pancakes and bacon before school. You don't like my cooking anymore?"
I looked at her with a tight-lipped smile, "I'll always love your food, ma. But I can't be excited about anything considering the school I'm going to."
Dad took a sip from his black mug, "Well, you did the crime, so you got to do the time." he said blandly, not once taking his eyes from the large newspaper in his grasp.
He treats that thing like it's his prize possession, always giving it his undivided instead of his children or wife. I just wanted to snatch that shit from his hands and rip it to pieces, but that'll only prove his point and feed his big-ass ego.
