Chapter Five #2
“Why are you so fucking evil! I scream not caring that I’m cussing at her. She obviously doesn’t care either because she hasn’t said anything about it.
“I can’t wait to get away from you,” I say, choking back tears she doesn’t deserve.
“You’ll leave when you’re ready to leave—and I won’t stop you. And the way you’re headed, you’ll be out before you even have anywhere to go. Life’ll teach you better than I can.” She stands waving a hand in the air before walking away.
Her words land like knives—breaking me, even as I hate myself for caring.
I clutch the towel tighter against my face, the resentment inside me taking over.
Respect? Gone.
The title of Mom? Stripped.
She’s not my fucking mom. She’s just Tracey Renee.
It’s crazy how the one person who is suppose to love you the most, is the one who destroys you the fastest.
I just hate that for me, it’s my mom.
Chapter Six
Fake Friends
B
y senior year, everything feels different. The halls I used to run through with my friends feel smaller now, tighter—like the walls themselves are trying to push me out. We’re still technically a group—but it’s not the same.
Little things I used to brush off, now stings.
A side comment. A secret laugh. An inside joke I’m not part of. It all piles up like bricks on my chest.
Senior year is suppose to be the time of our lives. But instead, it feels like a countdown. My independence is coming sure, but every time I’m home—or stuck alone with my thoughts—the weight of it all gets heavier.
My mom never lets me forget how much she can’t wait for me to turn eighteen.
Consistently reminding me I’ll never be enough.
Not for her or anyone. And at school I start to wonder if my friends will even be around after graduation or if they’ll just fade into my past like everybody says high school friends do.
On the surface, I play it safe and act normal.
But underneath, I feel myself falling apart.
The first thing my mom forced me to do after I turned sixteen was get a job at Eddie’s Fries and Shakes—and I hate her everyday for it.
A job meant no more after-school hanging out with boys, no more weekend parties—-no more teenage freedom. And since I completed summer school, I get out of school earlier than most of the other students, which makes me their perfect candidate for afternoon shifts.
Translation—no fucking life.
But making my own money also meant power—real power. It’s how I bought my first car.
Still, the more I work, the more it feels like I’m the only one who has to grow up fast. My friends keep living like nothing’s changed, while I’m scrubbing counters and serving fries too assholes.
Weeks blur into months, and somewhere along the way, I get pushed to the side. The group chat that used to blow up my phone is now dead quiet, filled with plans that clearly don’t include me.
And when I do chime in, their replies are dry—if they even bother replying at all.
They say I’m always working, but really it’s just an excuse to leave me out.
They didn’t used to be like this. We were supposed to be close—real friends, the kind who showed up no matter what.
But lately, it’s like something’s switched.
It even shifts at school too—Jordan and Samantha are suddenly attached at the fucking hip, whispering at lunch, posting pictures of movie nights—parties I wasn’t invited to.
And that’s what cuts the deepest—Jordan, my so-called best friend. Of everyone, she’s the one I thought would never switch up.
But now she looks right through me, like I was never anything to lose in the first place.
I can’t stop myself from questioning it all.
Am I really that easy to replace? Is it because of my job—because I can’t hang out like I used to?
Did I ruin things without even realizing it?
Do all those years mean nothing—sleepovers, vacations with her family, sharing the same fucking bed for a whole summer?
Did it all really vanish the second I couldn’t be her full-time sidekick anymore?
The questions eat me alive. And I don’t dare ask her—not when her actions already say everything.
Hearing the rejection out loud would hurt worse than the silence.
So I stay quiet and just watch, pretending I’m okay, even though deep down I already know—the girl who once felt like my sister found someone better.
? ? ?
Now that it’s senior year, the betrayal’s impossible to ignore. I’ve got first period with Samantha.
Just my fucking luck.
Thankfully, Miss Hernandez is our teacher—and she’s the coolest teacher I’ve had since second grade.
She wears jeans every day like the dress code stopped applying to her years ago, which, honestly, it probably has—she’s been teaching for over sixteen years.
That’s almost as long as I’ve been alive, which is crazy to think about.
Her classroom feels more like a museum than a high school classroom, every inch of the walls covered in posters and random fake ancient artifacts.
Miss Hernandez tells me to pass out the papers so we can start today’s lesson. I sit near her desk in the back of the room; Samantha, of course, sits front and center.
I start down the aisle closest to me, then move to hers. When I reach her desk, I set the paper down without so much as looking at her. I don’t hand it to her—she doesn’t exist to me.
At least that’s the lie I keep feeding myself. My heart still kicks the second I’m near her, but I keep my face carved out of stone.
On my way back to my seat, I feel the burn of someone’s eyes drilling into me.
When I turn around, Samantha’s staring straight at me. Like she can see through my act, like she knows pretending she doesn’t matter still takes something out of me.
“Is there a fucking problem?” I bite out, loud enough for the whole room to hear.
She knows I don’t fuck with her. What she doesn’t know is why—and she sure as hell doesn’t deserve to. She probably thinks it’s because my friends picked her over me, and maybe they did. Maybe they even told her some bullshit story that made her brave enough to think she could test me.
But what I won’t do is let her try me, especially in front of everyone. Even when we both know she’s second place.
If she was really smart, she’d remember who brought her into this group to begin with—and who I was back then.
Because that version of me was patient—naive maybe, but nice.
But the girl I am now is colder. Sharper. And a hell of a lot more heartless.
Conversations cut off mid-sentence, heads turning like everyone suddenly have nothing better to do. Phones hit the desktops, the drama clearly better than whatever is on their screens.
Samantha leans back slowly in her chair, arms folding across her chest like she’s proud to be queen of being second place. “There can be one,” she drags out, each word smug, her beady eyes slicing into me.
Whispers ripple through the room.
I lock my eyes on Samantha, narrowing them just enough to make my point—but not enough so I can’t see her. The kind of face that’ll remind you of exactly who you’re dealing with.
She arches a brow but says nothing—like she knows she should stop now while she’s ahead.
Thank God we’re in Miss Hernandez’s class. I’d never disrespect her room—she keeps it too peaceful for me to lose it here.
But on the inside, I’m livid.
If this were a cartoon, smoke would be blasting from my ears right now. If we were anywhere else, I’d drag her outside by her dry-ass hair, kicking and screaming—begging for the dean come save her dumbass.
She knows it—hell, the whole class knows it.
I slide back into my seat, legs trembling as I try to hold back my anger. My hands stay clenched in my lap, squeezing my phone like it’s a damn stress ball.
Before I can text the girls in the group chat, Miss Hernandez’s voice cuts through the noise in my head.
“She’s not worth it,” she whispers, leaning slightly toward me over her desk. “You’ll go farther in life than she ever will.”
Her words sink deeper than I expect—but I know she’s right. So, I take a deep breath, letting the fire in my chest cool down just enough to think straight.
I give her a weak smile. “You’re right,” I murmur, my voice low. “I’m sorry I acted out of character just now. There’s a lot of bullshit going on with her and the girls right now.”
She waves it off gently. “You don’t have to apologize,” she says. “You’re gonna meet a lot of women like Samantha in your life. Might as well figure out how to handle them now.”
I nod, letting her words settle in my chest. But the truth is, the calm doesn’t last long. I pull out my phone and open the group chat, needing to talk to someone—anyone—other than my teacher. Even if Miss Hernandez gets it, she’s still just that… my teacher. And right now, I need a friend.
“Samantha really got me fucked up acting like she has a problem with me and I’m so fucking close to giving her one for real. I’m not the one—not now, not ever.”
Typing bubbles pop up instantly.
My girls are actually responding—and fast. For once, they’re on it. A tiny spark of relief flickers in my chest, the kind that makes me forget, just for a second, how tense everything felt a second ago.
Malaysia: “Oh. Well what does that have to do with us?”
Jordan: “What do you want us to do about it?”
Jessica: “Uhhh…”
I stare at the screen, my stomach dropping as the truth sets in.
Are they seriously asking me that? Yeah I’m the one who brought Samantha into this group sure—but they are one’s who made her feel special enough to act the way she does now.
Without me inviting her in, they wouldn’t even know her.
And now they’re choosing her over me, like I’m the problem.
Like my problems are just an inconvenience they can’t be bothered with.
The truth’s been sitting in my face this whole time—I just kept pretending it wasn’t. But now I can’t deny it. They clearly like Samantha more than me.
Instead of wasting my energy lashing out like I really fucking want too, I remove myself from the group chat. I won’t swallow this easily, but I also won’t look back. They don’t want me around anymore, and I know I don’t want friends who don’t even care about me.
I still can’t believe I’ve been this fucking blind.
I hope one day I’ll find people that’ll love me how I want to be loved. But right now I don’t have it in me to fight for a friendship that’s already flatlined, especially when they’re the ones who stopped trying first.
Maybe everyone’s right—high school friendships don’t last past graduation.
At home, I feel alone. And now I’m alone at school too. If I can’t be enough for the people I thought loved me—I’ll be enough for myself.
Miss Hernandez writes on the board, the marker squeaking against it, but the words blur together.
I stare straight ahead, nodding when I’m suppose to, pretending to take notes, but all I can think about is everything I’ve just lost—my friends, my sense of control and the version of me that believed in people when they said forever.
The lesson keeps going, but I’ve already checked out. Because right now, I’m learning something different—that sometimes growing up means watching the people you love outgrow you.