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by Seraphina Sixteen. The big one six. Six and ten. Ten and six. Sweet. BULLSHIT!!! To tell you the truth, I feel cheated. Cheated out of a promise that is made to everyone once they turn sixteen. "You�re all grown up now." "You�ve got responsibility." "You�re heading towards adulthood." "You can make decisions for yourself." If that�s the case, then could someone please enlighten me as to why I�m sitting in my room after just being sent here because I busted my curfew. I�m supposed to be home no later then 10:30pm but I was �hanging around with no good hooligans who are a bad influence on me�, keeping me away from home until the ungodly hour of 10:35pm. This obviously shows that I am a rebel and I have no respect for my parents or the rules they set down for me. It is selfish for me to get them worried like that. Apparently I am just asking to be grounded. Funnily enough, I have no recollection of the conversation that allegedly transpired between my parents and I where I said, "Please, Mum, Dad. For God�s sake, ground me. I beg of you to put me under house arrest." But it must have, seeing as I am asking for it. It�s not as bad as I make it out to be I guess. Getting sent to my room isn�t exactly what you�d class as a painful punishment. I mean, would you complain if you were confined to a room with a TV, VCR, stereo, phone and a PC with Internet connections? This does not mean that I don�t play it up a bit. There�s no point in getting grounded if you don�t complain a little. Despite being restricted to nothing short of my favourite place, I am far from happy about Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum�s reaction to the whole situation. Is it my fault that Thug and I lost track of time when we were making out in the back of his Ford 100? No, I don�t think so. Of course, I don�t tell Mum and Dad this because they are under the impression that I have spent the evening at my friend Rebecca�s house, studying, before going to see a movie on the same level as Bambi. They don�t have a very high opinion of Thug and they�ve actually forbidden me from seeing him. This occurred after Thug was taken in for police questioning to �help with enquires� when the local hi fi store got lifted. Someone had seen Thug�s Ford at the scene of the crime. Turns out that it is one of his brothers that has borrowed the truck as well as a few stereo�s and other entertainment goods. Even so, the olds don�t trust him with me. They worry for nothing really. Eugene �Thug� Jenkins is really a big softy. A really big softy. Six foot three of huggable softness. He�s just turned eighteen and is a little �slow� for his age but I don�t mind. He treats me with respect and I never get hassled by anyone when I�m with him. There is a knock at my bedroom door. I quickly jump onto my bed, facing my back towards the door so it looks like I am upset, which I am, but not as upset as I make out to be. When I don�t answer, the knock comes again, this time accompanied by my mother�s voice. "Samantha dear, can I come in?" I don�t know why she bothers to ask this question because she comes in anyway, without even waiting for an answer. I wasn�t going to answer anyway, but that�s not the point. I feel the bed sag a little as she sits behind me on the other side of the bed before placing once manicured, fire engine red nailed, hand on my shoulder. She�s really into that �looking like a lady� stuff and tries to force it onto me a lot of the time although she hasn�t done this for a while. This has something to do with the fact that last time she tried to make me wear nail polish and makeup, I came out of my room with the whole Gothic look happening. I don�t like that look as such and I don�t mind wearing makeup and nail polish�I don�t even mind wearing the odd dress occasionally but I do it just to get at her. And I know that I can get to her so that makes my mission even more fulfilling and rewarding. "Samantha, I know you�re upset about this whole thing but you must understand that you forced your father and I to take these drastic measures. We don�t do these things to make you hate us, we don�t want you to hate us but it�s for your own good. Some day you�re going to have to learn that things can�t always go your way blah blah blah�" I stop listening about here because I�ve heard this lecture enough times before. She�s only in here because she�s paranoid that I�ll hate her and Dad for grounding me. I don�t hate them, but I never let her know this straight away. In this way, while she thinks she�s teaching me a lesson, I�m really using the situation to my advantage and teaching her one instead. They underestimate us parents do. They think that they know all our little tricks. I�m not saying that they�re clueless because they�re not. In my eleven or so years of going to school, I�ve only managed to wrangle three sick days when I wasn�t really sick. Most of the time, mum sees through my charade and I get sent to school anyway normally without breakfast because I�ve spent too much of my time trying to convince her that I�m drastically ill. But there are other ways that we fool them such as what I�m doing right now. I pretend that I�m really upset about the whole thing, even manage to squeeze out a few tears. I go on about how I can�t believe that they wouldn�t trust me just because I was home five minutes late. I beg and I plead, I use my best negotiation and debating skills and I am using them well. I am even heading for getting my curfew extended to 11:00pm when I stuff things up. "Please Mum. It�s only half an hour later and I�ve always kept to my curfew. It was only pure bad luck that I was running late tonight." (pleading face, threatening to turn on the water works again) "I don�t know dear. It seems a little too late-" I cut her off. This is to stop her from thinking of all the bad aspects of this deal. I must remember to use tact, sound responsible. Offering to make a compromise is the best way to do this because it make you sound more mature if you offer to take their views into account. "Please Mum. How about if I have a trial period of two weeks and see how it goes. Then you can decide if it�s a good idea or not." I know that if I can get her to agree to this then I�m home free. Parents always forget when a trial period ends so this isn�t really a compromise, it�s me getting my own way. She thinks this over for a few seconds. I can see that she feels that she�s getting tricked in someway because she�s tapping her fingernails on her thigh. That is a sure sign of deep thinking in my mother. She finally stops tapping and sighs, having found no fault in the suggestion I put forward. "Well I�ll have to confirm it with your father but I guess it would be ok. You�re right, you have been good about it so far. Just as long as you promise never to be late again." (Sniff, sniff. This is followed by a sincere nodding of the head on my part.) "Yes Mummy. I�ll make sure Thug set�s the alarm on his watch next time." M�aidez m�aidez! I�ve been shot out of the sky on one of my best runs ever. Mum freezes and glares at me. "I thought we told you that you are never to see that awful excuse for a boy ever again. He�s a danger to society!" she yells at me. "Don�t be so narrow minded Mum. He�s not dangerous at all. That was all a big mistake and you know it," I yell back at her. All this yelling has brought dad up to see what is going on. "What�s the matter?" he asks mum. Mum glares at me and then gets off the bed to stand with my father. Great, now they�re forming the parent wall. It�s supposed to intimidate me but I know this trick and I just ignore it. Mum turns to dad. "She�s been seeing that horrible Jenkins boy again. That�s where she�s been tonight. He�s the one that made her late." The parent wall glares at me. "I thought we told you never to see that bloody stupid excuse for a boy ever again. He�s a bloody danger to society." I think parents must have a handbook with these sayings in it because my dad says almost exactly the same thing as my mother, only with a bit of swearing in it. Dad�s are allowed to swear as much as they want�well that�s their logic to it anyway. It�s right up there with drinking beer, and getting to hold the TV remote and only driving to parties and never from them. I decide to say almost the same thing that I said to mum, only with a bit of swearing because I feel the situation calls for a bit of swearing even though I�ll get told off for it. "Dad, don�t be so bloody narrow minded. He�s not friggin� dangerous at all. That was all a big mistake and you bloody well know it!" The mum part of the parent wall puts her hands on her hips and glares at me doubly hard. "Don�t talk to your father like that my girl and curb that filthy language. You�re a young lady now act like one." I give my mum a �come off it� look. "Don�t be so bloody old fashioned Mum. I�m sixteen and it�s the year 2000. You�re still stuck in last century." Mum gasps and turns to my father. "Are you going to let her talk to me like that? Jake? Say something to her!" She stalks out of the room in a fluster. Dad visibly relaxes at her absence and comes and sits on my bed. "Listen kiddo. I know this all sounds unfair but you�ve driven us to it. We don�t do this to make you bloody well hate us, Christ, we don�t want you to hate us but it�s for your own bloody good. Some day you�re going to have to learn that shit happens and things can�t always go your way blah blah blah." Once again, I stop listening because it�s the same as what mum said only with a bit of swearing. One day, I�m going to find that parent handbook and burn it. "And you got one month for that?" My friend Sarah and I are in maths and I have just told her of the events that transpired at my house last night. Sarah�s mum is pretty good to her (her dad skipped out on them when she was ten). She doesn�t have a curfew and she�s never been grounded even though she�s done heaps worse things than me. She does not, on the other hand, have a boyfriend that her parents don�t like. Mrs White adored Matt Ryan from the moment Sarah brought him home. He hasn�t left since but she doesn�t mind. She thinks it�s good to have a man around the place again, plus, she doesn�t have to pay a handyman to do odd jobs around the house. "Yeah. Plus, my curfew has been reduced to 10:00pm on the dot. Any time after that and I get another month." "Bugger. Tis a little harsh. I�m glad my old woman isn�t like that." "Yeah, well I tried to argue my case but-" I am interrupted by my other friend, Jane who is nudging me with her elbow. I turn to her with a questioning look on my face- my questioning look is a lot like my normal look because I�m always questioning things I don�t understand which is a lot- and she indicates that the teacher has asked me a question. I try to look attentively to the front of the room but the teacher is looking at me expectantly for an answer to God knows what. "Well Samantha?" He looks at me with a smug expression, thinking that he has caught me out. I hear Jane cough twice and I know I am out of the woods. I pause a little longer, just so the disappointment will be more for Mr Fields because I don�t like him much. I don�t think anyone likes him much. He is a very unlikeable kind of person, plus he smells kind of funny. Sort of like moth balls. He takes a breath and is about to tell me off but I beat him to it. "The answer, Mr Fields, is 2." It is funny to see the look of defeat on his face that soon turns to a glare when everyone in the class starts to giggle. His glare pretty much silences everyone as it radiates danger and a �don�t mess with me� attitude. Before turning back to the blackboard, he glares at me personally, almost challenging me to slip up again. I won�t slip up again. I hardly ever give teachers the satisfaction of catching me out. I have very good backup plans, plus my friends will always help me out. We do this sort of thing all the time because that�s one thing that friends are good for, getting you out of trouble. The next class for today is English. I like English because I am fairly good at it and the teacher is nice. I�m pretty sure that I�m her favourite student and I guess that has effected my attitude towards the subject a little. I have never got below a B+ in English and that�s only because I handed my work in one day late which lost me half a mark so I look upon that B+ as an A in disguise. It�s good for my self esteem. Mrs Reynolds is not here today however and we have a substitute teacher instead. They give us a work requirement that Mrs R. has left for us and then lets us do whatever we want. I read the work requirement with more interest than the rest of the class put together. We have been asked to write about something we don�t like in society and present it in any form we feel comfortable with. Most of my friends are in my English class so I turn to them to discuss what they are going to do. Not surprisingly, none of them have read the work requirement yet and they are talking about their social lives. I attract their attention by clapping my hands and they all look at me expectantly. "Mrs Reynolds wants us to write about something in society that we don�t like." "Well that shouldn�t be hard for you Sam. You hate just about everything," Kelly says. I am known among my group of friends for being very pessimistic as well as apathetic. This is true but I also dislike some things more than others and just about everything inspires me to write. I am a very avid writer and I hope to become an author when I leave school. Most of my friends haven�t decided what they want to do yet but most of us want fame in some shape or form. I think Sarah will become an artist. She is incredibly good at drawing and painting and she knows it. People think that she�s up herself when she says that she thinks something she has drawn is good but she�s not up herself. She is just able to acknowledge the fact that she has a talent. My philosophy is that if you sit back and deny that you�re not any good at something when you really are, then you won�t get anywhere doing it. If you don�t think that you�re good, then other people won�t think that you�re good. My friends won�t have any trouble with this aspect of life because they all think that they are good in some way or another. We talk about what we are going to write about. They are very passionate about their beliefs, my friends are so the only person that has trouble deciding about what they�re going to write about is me. I just dislike too many things in our society and I can�t decide which one I�ll write about. It�s not due for a while yet so I decide to think about it some other time and go on to tell those who haven�t heard about getting grounded for seeing Thug. I love being the centre of attention so the lesson is pretty good all �round. I am starting to worry that I can�t decide what I am going to write about for my English work requirement. This has never happened to me before. I never have any trouble finding something to write about but finally, I have found a topic that has rendered me lost. I am discussing this problem with my parents at the dinner table. They keep suggesting things to write about like racism, the introduction of the GST, boring stuff really. I want to write about something different. Something that no one else will think of. That is something that I pride myself on...originality. This is what gets me all those good marks in English. The teachers like to read about something new and exciting that no one else writes about. We are in the middle of dinner when the phone rings. In my house, dinner is always at 5:00pm on the dot because by that time, my dad has just got home from work and he is really hungry. My friends think that it is strange that we have dinner so early but it is something that I have grown up with so I am used to it. Mum gets up to answer the phone while dad tells me about the new boy at his work. They have been giving him a bit of a hard time because that�s what you do to the new boy. They send him off to get tartan coloured paint and the like because the new boy never questions what he is asked to do. Even though it is funny, I still think it is a little mean. I stop listening to him when he changes the subject and starts talking about the rise in interest rates. This is something that I don�t care about particularly so I shift my concentration to my mum who has just answered the phone in her phone voice which is several tones posher than her normal voice. I�ve asked her on several occasions why she uses a different voice when she�s on the phone but she denies it and tells me that I�m imagining things and that maybe I should try concentrating a little more on the way I answer the phone and stop worrying about other people. My mum doesn�t like the way I answer the phone. She thinks it is unlady like. I think it is funny. Sometimes I answer the phone like this; "Good morning/afternoon. City morgue." I did that once and it was mum�s friend calling to say that her mother had just died. At first I felt a little bad about it until I discovered that this woman was happy that her mother had died because she was getting quite a large inheritance and she was sick of having to visit the nursing home all the time. When I heard this, I was no longer sad, just a bit pissed off at the audacity of my mother and her friends. "Yes, Samantha is here but she can�t talk to you I�m afraid because she is grounded." I sigh as I realise that it is one of my friends. I know this because 1) they are asking for me, and 2) because my mum put an emphasis on my name which means that whoever it is, asked to speak with Sam. My mother doesn�t like people calling me Sam because it sounds too tomboyish. I roll my eyes at this because I�d rather be called Sam if it means that it annoys my mother. I excuse myself and wander into the lounge room where I pick up the other phone. As soon as I put it to my ear, I hear Sarah pleading with my mother to let her talk to me. Mum is just about to launch into her lecture about respecting your elder�s decisions when I cut in. "Hey Sarah. Mum, I�ve got it. You can hang up now." My mother makes a huffing noise in the phone because I have won and she hasn�t but she hangs up anyway. "What�s up?" I ask Sarah. Sarah never does anything for no reason at all so I know that she wants to ask me something. "A few of us going out tonight and I was wondering if you want to come too?" I would desperately love to get out of this house but I know it is not possible. I tell Sarah this and she gives me sympathy. I like getting sympathy, it makes me feel wanted and loved. There is a gasp from Sarah�s end of the phone. "I�ve just had on idea," she says, sounding very excited. I am excited too because Sarah always has good ideas. "Get your mum back on the phone." I call out to my mum and she begrudgingly picks up the phone in the kitchen again. "What is it?" My mother�s phone voice has gone now because she is talking to one of my friends so she doesn�t feel that she has to make a good impression. "Hi Mrs Grantha. It�s Sarah White. Look, I was wondering if you might allow Samantha to come over for a while and help me with my homework." I can almost hear my mother�s fingernails tapping overtime on her thigh. She is sure that there is a trick behind this but she just has to find it. "Why can�t you come over here instead?" my mother queries. She thinks that she has foiled our plan but Sarah has got things under control. "Normally I wouldn�t hesitate Mrs Grantha but my mother is ill and I wouldn�t feel right about leaving her alone. I�ll put her on if you want and she can explain the situation." I can hear my mother getting a little flustered. She spends a lot of her life being flustered over one thing or another. "Oh, well I don�t want to disturb her if she is ill," my mother says, sounding a little embarrassed. She is now pretty certain that we�re telling the truth but Sarah want�s to make sure. "You won�t be disturbing her, she�s just here. I�ll put her on." Sarah makes a bit of a scuffling noise at her end as if she�s handing the phone over to someone. I�m trying not to laugh on the lounge room phone. "Mrs Grantha?" comes an ill sounding voice that is remarkably like Sarah�s mother�s voice. As well as being a great artist, Sarah is also very good at impersonating people. She is one of the few multi-talented friends I have. I am also multi-talented. I think that�s why the two of us are such close friends, we both have the whole multi-talented thing going for us. "Mrs White," my mother says, this time in her phone voice. "I�m sorry to hear that you are feeling under the weather." That is my mother�s favourite saying I think, along with �You�ll break you�re neck!� when I�m doing something that�s remotely physical. "Oh, I�m not too bad," Sarah sniffles. "I understand that your Samantha is rather good at English?" Sarah is doing a good job. It was a brilliant move to make my mother feel proud of me when she�s trying to get her to let me out of the house. "Well, yes. She�s does have her days." My mother is trying not to brag because she thinks it is a sign that you are a snob. She doesn�t realised that she actually spends most of her social life bragging but I don�t mention it because arguing with my mother is a tiresome thing. "Sarah having a little trouble is she?" Mum puts on a bit of a sympathetic phone voice. She doesn�t see putting another person�s child down like that is a form of bragging, no matter how subtly she puts it. "Well, yes she is. To tell you the truth, I�m a little worried about her progress in this subject. The teacher has suggested several times that I get her a tutor but I just can�t afford it. I wish she could be a little more like your Samantha in that area of study, but unfortunately, it�s not one of her strong points. I was wondering if maybe you might allow Samantha to come around and help Sarah out a little?" I can almost feel mum beaming with pride down the phone line. This is great. She can�t argue over this, she�s going to have to let me go. "I�ll send her over right away. I hope you�re feeling better soon. Goodbye." I hear the click as my mother hangs up the phone. I say a quick goodbye and a thankyou to Sarah and hang up before walking into the kitchen. Mum has already pulled out a container of her famous chicken soup from the freezer and is defrosting it a little in the microwave. She looks at me as I walk in. "I�m just defrosting a little of my chicken soup for you to give to poor Mrs White. Now, even though you�re allowed out, this is for studying purposes only and you must be home no later than 10:00. If there is a repeat of last night�s effort, you�ll be under house arrest until you�re thirty. Understand? Good. I�ll ring you at Sarah�s to make sure everything is ok." This last sentence is her way of saying, �I�ll be checking up on you and if you�re not there, look out.� I don�t know how Sarah will work her way out of this one but I�m sure she�ll find a way. Mum drives me around to Sarah�s house even though it is only a few blocks. It is obvious that she still does not trust me one hundred percent and I have to talk her out of coming inside to see how Mrs White is, but finally, I�m standing on the curb, waving goodbye as she drives off in her BMW. Mum is proud of her BMW and she thinks it makes her a better person. It doesn�t really, besides, she doesn�t have the model badges on it because it�s only a crappy 3 series. Nothing to brag about there. I walk up the path to Sarah�s place and I�m just about to knock on the door when it burst open. Sarah hurries out with Matt in tow. She is calling goodbyes to her mother as she goes. She turns to me and grins broadly. "So your ma let you come?" she asks in her sick mother voice. "Yeah, but there�s just one problem. She�s going to ring your place to check up on me but she didn�t say when she would." "No probs," Sarah says, pulling a mobile out of her bag. "I guessed she�d do something like that and I�ve had our calls diverted. We�re ready to roll." I give her a quick hug of gratitude before chucking my bag of school books on the verandah and throwing off my old woollen jumper that is hiding my �going out� clothes. Mum would have suspected something if I�d come to study in my �going out� clothes so the jumper was a necessity. Once again, the parent handbook has failed my mother because she never saw this one coming. TO BE CONTINUED... |
