Dear Estella,

17. detention

After tying the laces of my black converse, I stand up and walk down the stairs of my house. My body tenses once I hear the loud clicking of my mom's heels only a few steps behind me.

"What the hell are you wearing?" She questions as she passes me by. Once she's at the bottom of the staircase, she turns to me, looking me up and down with judgement in her eyes.

"Clothes," I reply in confusion.

I'm dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans and dainty pink top with little flowers on it. Not very different from what I wear every other day.

Chuckling humorlessly, she asks, "You think you're so funny, don't you?" She narrows her eyes. "Where are you going?"

I never told my mom about what happened on the camping trip, so she has no idea about the four-hour detention I have to serve to make up for it.

"I have to go to school," I reply.

"School? On a Saturday?" She asks. "I wasn't born yesterday, Estella. Tell me the truth."

"I am."

"Then I'm taking you over there."

"But— but I don't want you to take me," I murmur.

My mom makes her way towards me in a menacing manner. She looks down with cold eyes, the only way she's ever known how to.

"I'm taking you whether you like it or not, Estella. I want to know what you're going to be doing at school on a Saturday," she states with finality. "And it's not like you can drive yourself there. You don't know how to."

I chew on the inside of my cheek as I stare right back at my mom. I back away from her intimidating glare, resembling a dog putting its tail between its legs in fear.

"Brooke and Jackson were going to teach me," I say in low voice, almost a whisper.

"Well they aren't here anymore, are they?" My mother yells, completely catching me off-guard. I flinch at the loud sound of her voice. "Get in the fucking car, Estella."

Don't do it, Estella.

I stand, frozen in place.

You can walk to school.

"I said get in the damn car," She repeats, her words coming out in a slow, threatening manner. She points to the front door. "I'm not going to tell you again."

I give in, not wanting to feel my mother's wrath. Finally picking up my feet, I walk over to the door, my mom following closely behind me. I step inside the white Beamer, slamming the door shut.

Wrong move, Estella.

"Don't slam my door." My mom pushes the button of the car and the engine ignites, the consoles lighting up blue. "Do it again and you'll see what happens."

Why can't she just leave again?

And not come back. Ever.

She pulls out of the driveway and drives to the school. I turn my body toward the passenger door the entire ride to the school, thinking about how glad I am that I have detention. Anything that gives me a reason to be out of the house is a blessing— even spending hours cleaning bathrooms and locker rooms or whatever tasks they'll have us complete.

"Why do you need to be at school on a Saturday morning?" My mom asks as she enters the parking lot. "Seriously."

I crack my middle finger before replying. "I, um— I volunteered to help my Physics teacher set up for our next experiment."