AC/DC

Chapter II

My house gate creaked as I opened it to enter my two-storey bungalow. It was not lavish like the homes you see on Teen Cribs, but it was quite spacious to fit my family- which was made up of my dad, Evan, my mother Akira, my sister, Tara and me.

I opened the front door and loosened my shoes before placing it on the rack. Determined to get some rest after a tiring day, I darted to my kitchen, hoping for a good lunch. Instead, I was treated to fried rice, cooked by my mother, Akira Mangal. She was in her mid-50s but she still had the energy of a 22-year old. Her tanned face was free of wrinkles thanks to the endless SK-II creams she kept on using, and there was no traces of white hair on her head thanks to the LOREAL dye that she kept on using since I was born.

"You're home early," she said, "How was school today?"

"Boring and interesting." That was the standard response I gave her every afternoon, no matter how energetic or tired I was.

"How boring was it?"

"Same old morning assembly work," I told her, choosing to not mention about Rhett at all.

"What about the interesting part?"

I looked to my mother, debating whether or not to tell her about the good piece of news I had got.

"Well, I was chosen to be the head  of the school play for Teacher's Day next month," I told my mother, earning a severe look of displeasure.

"Why would they choose you?" asked my mother in disgust.

"Madam Mallory said I have a real talent for writing. She wants me to put it to good use."

Before my mother could reply, I quickly continued.

"Plus, I've always dreamed of actually being in charge of something mom. It's so frustrating to see others write half-baked plays and get lauded when I could definitely do much better than them."

My mother shook her head, being her usual pessimistic self.

"Mark," she began, as she opened her eyes wide and moved closer to me, "I want you to focus on your academics. Don't join all this, it's a waste of time."

My eyes rolled upon hearing my mother's statement.

"It's not a waste of time at all," I explained, "I'm doing something I really love."

"You shouldn't be doing stuff that you love. That's only going to bring you down."

I was dumbfounded by my mother's logic.

"Do you even understand what comes out of your mouth?" I asked, my voice seething with anger. I was starting to lose my cool with my mother.

"I don't want you to take part in the school play Mark," she said, in a voice full of melancholy, "You should be studying and not mixing with the wrong people.

"You're crazy mom," I said, as my mom's face turned pale, "Tara's really loosened the screws in your head."

"Don't talk about Tara like that!" My mother exclaimed, "She was difficult to deal with, but at least we managed to control her."

I was dumbfounded, once again. My tolerance was pushed to the limit and I lost my cool.

"Control her?" I asked, "Control her?!"

My mother was about to answer my rhetorical question, but I quickly shot back.

"You and dad had to cancel your beloved 25-year trip in London just to rescue her from the drifter," I began, "And then you had to bribe the police to put that drifter in jail. Have you forgotten all that?"