To My Family:
Without crazy people like you I’d never have created crazy
characters like these…

16 REASONS WHY
MY LIFE SUCKS
Sara Walker

INTRODUCTION
Why is it that Paris Hilton gets to be pretty, famous, rich and perfect? I
mean, seriously, what did she ever do? Sit around while her parents
made her fortune? It’s so unfair. She gets whatever she wants and I,
Kate Reynolds, am stuck with this life. This horrible, sucky, waste of a life.
What’s so sad about my life, do you ask? Well, here’s the 411:
Beth: My best friend Beth (who I love, don’t get me wrong) is a
MIDGET! Okay, not a midget but she’s extremely short. She used to get
teased all the time when she was little (I didn’t meet her until seventh grade,
when she moved to Luddermor).
Beth’s parents are normal height. Her younger brother Trevor is normal
height (for an eleven year old). But some how Beth is a freaking midget!
The first time I ever meet Beth was in my math class. I’m pretty good at
math so I was in the advanced class. Beth had just come from the office, and
the teacher, Mr. Armstrong, announced her.
“This is Bethany Sanders. She has moved here from…where,
sweetheart?”
Now Beth is kind of shy. She’s not really good in front of a crowd, unless
the crowd is family and/or friends. “Ohio,” she said, VERY quietly.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. Where?”
“Ohio,” she repeated herself, not much louder.
Now, because Mr. Armstrong is probably hearing impaired, he
straightened and announced to the class that Beth was from Nebraska (where
he got Nebraska out of Ohio I have yet to figure out).
The entire class started to giggle, because they knew what Beth had said.
Beth was turning red in the face, but she wasn’t going to correct him.
For the next three days everyone called her farmer when she came into the
math room. Finally, I had had enough of it.
So when Mike Kernigan mooed when Beth walked in, I walked over to
him, punched him in the arm and told him that if he mooed again I’d kick him
in the groin.
Mike never mooed again.
So, Beth and I became fast friends. I didn’t care that she’s short and she
didn’t care that I’m a sarcastic bitch. It works.
Relationship status: I’m a total loner and have no boyfriend, unless you
count Rich Hartman. He tried to feel me up at this one (okay, the ONLY) party
I went to. Ugh.
I had gone to the party when I was in ninth grade. Some kid I used to hang
out with (other than Beth) made me go with her, and then she ditched me.
Great friend, huh?
Anyway, because I had no prior knowledge of high school parties, I
wandered around the house until I found a bedroom. I figure, what the hey,
maybe I could be alone for a while.
WRONG.
Some couple was in their making out. It was so gross.
I quickly slammed the door shut and turned to leave. I made my way
through the throng of people to the kitchen. And there he was: Rich Hartman.
He wasn’t popular, but he wasn’t a loser. He was just Rich. A very,
VERY drunk Rich.
I leaned against a counter. People milled in and out. Then, there was no
one in the kitchen except Rich and me. He walked over so he was standing
next to me.
“Hey, babe,” he slurred. I rolled my eyes and hoped he go away.
But he didn’t. Instead, he tried to feel me up.
“Ah! Get away from me, you freak!” I pushed him away and raced as fast
as I could from the kitchen.
I left, not caring about my friend anymore.
Ugh. Rich Hartman has bad breath and whistles when he talks.
So, other than that drunk kid, I’m without significant other, and I don’t
see one in the near future. I mean, who’d want me?
Milk Products: I’m allergic to milk AND a chocoholic. Truly a fate worse
than death. You wouldn’t believe how many days of school I missed because I
couldn’t resist a cookie or two.
Although, I do sneak pizza. Yeah, yeah, it has cheese. So, you’re going to
tell me that I can never eat that glorious, glorious food because my BODY
doesn’t want me to? Screw that. I’ll take the rashes, thank you.
But it is milk that I really miss. I could drink it when I was younger, but
now it was off limits. My mom doesn’t buy milk anymore, because she knows
I’ll drink it.
She did try marking the milk every time my sister or her drank some, so
she’d know if I did. But I wasn’t stupid. I would take the marker she used and
mark it when I drank. So that plan failed.
Feet: I can’t find shoes.
No, my feet aren’t a size fourteen or anything. It’s just that my left foot is
a size seven and my right foot is a size eight. Seriously. Either I have to buy
two pairs of shoes every time I get new ones or I have to wear some of my
sister’s old ones. Truly pathetic.
And the worst thing about having two different sized feet is swimming.
It doesn’t affect my swimming ability, it just hurts my ego.
I was at a pool once where there was this little boy, maybe four years old
(I was ten). I had taken off my flip flops (which are good at hiding feet,
surprisingly. Because it’s hard to tell that they are different sizes when every
time you step the shoes slaps).
Anyway, he was sitting on the edge of the pool and I was standing kind of
behind him. I was talking with my mom. Then, the boy pointed at my feet as
said, very loudly, “You’re feet are different!” Well, you can imagine my
embarrassment. It was a REALLY crowded pool.
And, the biggest reason that my life sucks: my sister Erica.
She has been first in her class since forever.
She is probably the prettiest girl that lives in Luddermor.
She gets everything she wants. Even my Barbie doll that I got for
Christmas one year that Erica claimed as her own and then my mother gave
HER the doll.
She has never had a bad hair day. My entire LIFE is a bad hair day.
She’s, well…
She’s perfect.

REASON 1: MY SISTER IS BIG “GIRL” ON
CAMPUS

Beth and I were sitting in my room, studying for chemistry. Okay, she
was studying and I was complaining.
“Kate, just look at the functional groups. See? It’s an alcohol.”
“Great,” I mumbled. “Can I drink it?”
“Kate! Please! I have to do well on this test. And, may I remind you, so do
you.”
I rolled over so that my face was in my pillow and my leg was stretched
against the wall. It so wasn’t fair. My sister AND best friend got to be
geniuses and the only useful things I can do is algebra and make a three-leaf
clover with my tongue.
“Like you’re going to fail. You have a what, 97 overall?”
“99, actually. Now sit up and amuse me. Is this butane or pentane.” Beth
shoved me and I flipped up to a sitting position. Beth normally is a nice, sweet,
shy person. But when I’m being stubborn she can get cranky.
“You know, BFF, it might be a little more comfortable if you removed the
stick that is up your ass.”
Beth threw the reference table at my head and wrote down something. I
shook my head, not understanding a word of chemistry. About the only thing I
knew about chemistry is that no guy had ever had chemistry with me (and
guys all over the world were happy for that).
I knew that Beth was starting to steam, so I picked up the table and
checked it. “How many carbons does it have?”
“Four.” Beth pointed to the structural formula that she had drawn. All I
saw was a bunch of Cs and Hs. Like that was really the way an atom looked
like. Or whatever it was.
“Okay, four Cs. Right?”
Before I got my answer the door swung open to reveal my perfect sister.
“I got it!”
Beth and I hardly glanced up. We both were used to Erica “getting it”,
whatever “it” was. Usually, it was an award, scholarship, date or something.
“Uh huh. Great, Erica.” I could see her huff out of the corner of my eye. I
smiled. “Now get out of my room.”
“You’re not even going to ask what?” Did it matter? I was just another
trophy for my sister to parade around in from of me with. The more I lived
with my sister the more I began to believe that one of us was switched at birth.
“Scholarship?” Beth questioned.
“Money?” I continued.
“A date with Johnny Depp?” Beth said and we both laughed.
Erica put her hands on her hips dramatically. “Uh! Why do I even
bother?”
“Don’t know. Now, may I continue with my functional group? Okay, this
is butane.”
Erica, curious, because anything nerdy attracts her, walked the few feet to
my bed and leaned over my shoulder. “It’s butene. See? Four carbons and
eight hydrogens. It’s an alkene.” With that, she walked back to the door.
I hoped, in vain, that she was just going to leave and spare me, the idiot
child. But, of course, she turned back to me. “I am first in my class. I’m going
to be valedictorian.”
Erica left and both Beth and I looked up. “Whoa.” I jumped off of my bed
and chased her down. “Um, don’t they wait until like April to tell people that
stuff? It’s only January.”
Erica smiled, knowing that she had my attention. “Apparently, if I keep up
with the pace I’m going, there is no way anyone can get ahead.”
I stood and looked at her pretty face. “How does it feel to be a total
freak?”
Beth walked up behind me, wanting to hear Erica’s response. I knew what
she was going to say. I brought it on myself. “I don’t know. Why don’t you try
looking in a mirror?”
With that she left us there, me fuming and my midget of a best friend
trying not to laugh.
The next day I was sitting in my first period class, counting the minutes.
My teacher, Mr. Mallow, was writing some equation on the board. I have yet
to hear of a student that actually liked Mr. Mallow. I guess a guy whose been
called Marshmallow all his life (at least his teaching career) kind of has to
have people hate him.
But that cannot possible justify his personality. It really sucks.
“Okay, class. Who wants to guess what the derivative of this equation is?”
I knew what it was. I mean, this is the only class that I understand. But
there was no way in hell that I was going to raise my hand.
“Jo?”
Jo was a Goth girl that tended to sit in the back of the class. She rolled her
eyes and ignored him.
“Okay, I guess not.” He rubbed his face and turned to Mike Kernigan.
“Mike? C’mon, I know you know.”
Mike was asleep, sitting behind me. I turned around and saw that he was
drooling. As hard as I could, I kicked my leg back into his shin.
“Ow!” he yelped in pain, waking up. He rubbed his leg and looked around
the class.
Of course the rest of the class laughed. I rolled my eyes, hating every
person in the room just for living. Why was I forced to attend this school,
filled and run by morons, when I could be home sleeping?
Mr. Mallow finally found someone to answer his question (the kid got it
wrong) and continued the problem, droning on and on.
I checked the clock again. Yes, only a few more minutes!
Just seconds before the bell, while reaching down for my backpack, the
P.A. system crackled. “Attention students of Luddermor High, especially those
that auditioned for this year’s school play. The cast list will be posted outside
of Dr. Livingston’s office after first period. Thank you.”
The entire class began to talk at once. All I did was wince. Erica had tried
out for the lead role. And I knew, without a doubt, that she had got it. I
glanced over at Sally Merkerson, the girl who had actually written the play this
year. Her face was glowing with pride. Ugh, whatever.
The school plays at Luddermor were never actual plays by people that are
actually playwrights. Every year Dr. Livingston (the scary performing arts
director) goes around to all of the English classes, asking kids to try writing a
play.
Most kids just ignore him and continue what they had been doing.
But Sally Merkerson is a total FREAK about writing. When most people
didn’t even write a play she wrote FIVE. FIVE! And I thought I was a loser.
But then one of Sally’s scripts got picked and now it was going to be the
school play.
The bell rang and I raced out of Mallow’s class. There had to be some
kind of law against forcing us students to listen to the guy for an hour. It was
truly cruel and unusual punishment. I mean, what did I ever do in my past life?
I hadn’t been paying attention to what I had been doing and ran straight
into my next door neighbor Matt. “Whoa, Reynolds,” he told me.
Matt has lived next door to me since I was born (same for him). So when
we were younger our parents (his Mom and Dad and my Mom; they’re like
best friends) pretty much forced us into being best friends. It IS kind of
annoying when the hottest junior at Luddermor has seen you in your pajamas
and watched you pick food out of your teeth with floss.
But the weird thing is that Matt only calls ME Reynolds. He calls Erica
Erica and he calls my mom either Mrs. Reynolds or Mrs. R.
But I’m Reynolds, like I don’t even have a first name (not that I want it,
but hey).
I pushed Matt out of my way and continued on.
“Ow, where’s the fire?” Matt called after me, but I was already past him.
My next period was Spanish. That was probably the most useless class
ever invented by man. Why the hell do I need to know Spanish? Yeah, okay,
maybe if I lived in Texas or California or some other highly populated
Hispanic area. But I live in Upstate NEW YORK!
I was half way to my classroom when Beth ran to my side, all excited.
“They posted the cast list!” She was all excited.
I nodded, confused. “So?”
Beth rolled her eyes and gave me a “Duh” look. “Don’t you remember last
week when I told you I had a doctor’s appointment?”
“Um, yeah. You said that you had to have a physical.” I still looked at her
funny until I realized that the “doctor appointment” was her excuse. She had
actually auditioned for it.
For some reason, Beth thinks I’m completely against the theater. I’m not
really. I’m just against any production that includes my sister, singing, dancing
Lindsay Lohan or Hilary Duff. My god, I hate them.
“Okay, well, let’s go to the performing arts room.”
Apparently I was on acid because I was still confused. “Why?”
“To see if I made the cast list, stupid. The announcement said it was
outside Dr. Livingston’s office.”
I shrugged and we headed for the P.A. room. I had three minutes until I
had to be in Spanish, and thankfully the P.A. room was on the way.
We pushed through the crowd outside of the room to see if Beth’s name
was on the list. She was shaking with excitement. For the first time I found
myself really hoping someone I knew would be the play. Normally, having
someone I knew in the play (ahem, Erica) meant I’d have to see it. But if Beth
was in it, I’d definitely see it.
I pushed some foreign kid out of the way so I was in front of the list. I
think he swore at me in Russian, or wherever he was from. I didn’t care. No,
I’m not one of those “ignorant” people. He was just in my way. Anyway, I
looked over the list. The first name I spotted was Matt’s. He was the lead guy.
I didn’t even know that he liked acting. He was more of a jock (he played
Varsity basketball). Whatever.
I searched the list twice, looking for Beth Sanders, but it wasn’t there. I
turned back, pushing the foreign kid out of my way again. Beth looked at me
with this extreme look of sadness. “I’m sorry, Beth.”
I thought I saw a tear form in her eye but she blinked it back and smiled.
“Well, at least your sister got the lead role.”
“WHAT!” I turned back and saw Erica Reynolds at the top. Great, I
thought to myself. Not only do I have to see it, listen to it, probably help with
rehearsals AN D see my best friend cry because she didn’t make it.
It meant Matt would be coming over to my house even MORE than usual.
Ugh.
The cafeteria of Luddermor High is a disgrace to the collective
intelligence of mankind. It is a horrid, waste of a room. And the food is the
least of its problems.
The tables are randomly splayed around the room and the chairs are old
classroom chairs that are either broken or are missing the back rest.
So Beth and I ignore the cafeteria and go straight to the library instead.
It’s quiet and I don’t have to listen to the seniors picking on the freshmen.
“I’m fine really…” Beth said, ripping a piece of paper out of her math
notebook.
“I didn’t even know you where into acting and stuff.” I took a bite of my
peanut butter sandwich. It was against the rules to have food in the library, but
the librarians were cool and employed a “I don’t see it, it’s not there” policy. I
also had a bag of Bugles.
“Well, I’m not psycho about it, but I wanted to try. You know, see if I was
any good.”
“And?”
“And what?” She began to fold the paper in half the long way.
I was finishing my history homework, which was due next period. I’m
probably the laziest person alive: I either do my homework during lunch or in
the morning before school. I very rarely do homework at night.
My pen was running out of ink. Great, my last black pen. I reached down
to grab another one from my back pack. “And… are you any good?”
“I don’t know. My opinion would be biased.” She reached across to grab a
Bugle from my bag.
I snatched the pen and caught her in the act. “Hey!”
“I’m hungry.” She popped it in her mouth and smiled. “So, Erica and Matt
are lead? That should be interesting.”
“You have no idea. Five bucks says they’ll pull me into the whole thing
somehow.” She nodded in agreement and folded the edge of the folded paper
into a triangle. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Paper football.”
“Um, why?” I guessed my strangeness had some how rubbed off on my
best friend. Sorry Beth.
“Why not?” She made the last fold and tucked the flapping piece under
the other fold. Then she set it up so that it was ready to be flicked.
Instinctively, I pulled my two pointer fingers together and formed the
goal. She flicked it over my fingers. We played paper football all the time, so
we were both pretty good at it.
“What’s the play about, anyway?” My turn to flick it at Beth.
“I don’t know. Aren’t you in Mallow’s class with Sally?” Flick.
“Um, I don’t talk to Erica-wannabes.” Flick, Bugle. “How don’t you
know what it’s about? Didn’t you AUDITION for it?”
I guessed I had gotten kind of loud because the librarian “Shhh-ed” us.
“Sorry,” we said response.
Beth turned back and continued. “Yeah, well, they didn’t have us use the
actual script when we auditioned. We read from some script called “Wait Until
Dark”. It was about some blind woman.”
“Oh.” It was Beth’s turn to flick.it. She got it in position, aimed, but hit it
in the wrong spot. It went flying higher than expected and poked me in the
eye.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Kate!” I covered my eye with my hand, biting back the
words I wished I could have yelled. It hurt like a bitch.
“I’m fine,” I told her, wiping away the tears that had came when the paper
poked me.
The librarian “Shhh-ed” us again, and I pulled my hand away from my
eye.
“Kate, do you have food?” The librarian asked.
I quickly shoved my sandwich bag (I had finished it) in my backpack,
along with the half full Bugles bag.
“No,” I told her, smiling. Sometimes my charm (ha, that’s a laugh)
worked on her. Not today.
“Beth, Kate, you know the rules. I’m going to have to ask that you leave.”
I rolled my eyes and Beth sighed good naturedly. We stood and pushed in
our chairs and left the library.
“Sorry,” I told Beth once out.
“There’s only a minute left of lunch anyway.” We started down the hall to
history (we were in the same class).
Beth had to stop at her locker, and I waited for her. Unfortunately, Matt
walked up next to me. “Hey, Reynolds.”
I rolled my eyes. “Aren’t you needed in the lunchroom?” I asked him,
seriously hoping he’d go away.
“Nope.” He smiled. Matt Schroeder has a PERFECT smile.
I sighed, hoping he’d get the message. “Do you enjoy annoying me?”
“Yep.”
The bell rang and the halls filled with bored kids, waiting to get home. A
couple of basketball players called out to Matt. “Schroeder! Get your ass over
here!”
“Gotta go,” Matt said, smiling again. He began to walk away, and I turned
back to Beth, who was finishing in her locker.
“Hey Reynolds!” Matt called, loud enough for everyone to hear. I rolled
eyes.
“What?”
“You have peanut butter on your jeans.” And then he left.
I glanced down to see a smear of my peanut butter sandwich across the
side of my left pant leg. Lovely.
I ran to the bathroom, with Beth in hot pursuit. Once in, I grabbed a paper
towel and rubbed off as much as I could. “God, he’s such a jerk.”
“Kate, if he’d been a REAL jerk he wouldn’t have said anything at all.”
She had a point.
But god, he was annoying.

REASON 2: MY FAMILY IS PSYCHO

I went home later that day, after sitting through history, English and
chemistry (which, by the way, I totally failed that test Beth and I were
studying for), among other pointless courses. As I hopped off the bus I
noticed my mom’s car in the garage. This struck me strange because my
mom’s an English teacher from the middle school. I swear I’m the only kid in
Luddermor High that knows the difference between “good” and well”.
When I was in middle school I actually had my mother as a teacher. There
had been a screw up in scheduling and somehow the geniuses that run these
schools stuck me in her class. Kids used to ask me personal questions about
her so that they could make fun of her during school.
Kids are so immature.
But, I wouldn’t tell them anything. Except when I was grounded by my
mom for staying out too late with Beth at the movies. She was really pissed about it, and so was I. So, I told all the kids that my mom wasn’t actually a
teacher and we were on the run from the police for murdering our landlords.
And they believed me. I was in even MORE trouble then.
Anyway, I checked inside the garage, making sure she wasn’t trying to
kill herself by car fumes or something (not that she was suicidal or anything).
It was empty, I’m glad to report.
I slammed open the door, threw my back pack on the couch and flopped
down on the recliner. It would be another ten minutes before Erica got dropped
off by her friends, you know, the other beautiful-smart-actress types. Ugh,
why me?
I flipped on Video IQ and drowned out my misery with the soothing
combination of music videos and those word play things, I don’t know what
they’re called. The phone rang, and I ignored it. It rang again and again I
ignored it. On the fourth time I picked it up.
“Hello?” came an ancient voice over the phone.
“Grandma Reynolds?” Great. Just who I needed to talk to, my grandma.
“Katie dear?”
“Um, yeah Grandma?”
“Oh, Katie! I haven’t spoken to you in forever!” Uh huh, Grandma. That’s
because you’re senile and smell weird.
“Yeah, Grandma. Sure.”
“Oh, Katie! How old are you? Fourteen, fifteen?”
“Sixteen, last September.”
“Oh, well. You two girls grow up so fast!” Uh, was there a point to this
call?
“Did you want to talk to my mom?” I held my breath, hoping for the
affirmative.
“Did I send you a birthday card, dear?”
“Yeah, Grandma. It had five dollars in it.” How cheap can you get? Yeah,
okay, you’re on social security, but who else are you going to spend on?
You’re cat?
“Oh, that’s nice, sweetie.” AHHHHHH!
“Grandma, did you call for my mother?”
“What? Call who?”
“Grandma, why did you call?” OLD PEOPLE!!!
“Oh. I don’t know. It was nice to talk to you Erica.”
“I’m Kate, Grandma!” But she already hung up.
I banged my head against the table next to the chair I was in and sat back
up (did you know that banging your head against something for an hour burns
one hundred and fifty calories?).
Why is my family so weird? And why is it my mom’s mom, the SANE
one, died and I’m left with my dad’s mom?
That thought brought back some memories, none that I could really
remember that well.
My dad died when I was like four, and I really don’t remember him that
well. Erica, two years older than me but only a grade apart, says she
remembers him. I think she’s full of it.
He had been a head manager at a local restaurant called Barley’s. It was a
casual dining restaurant and we got to eat free there. The food wasn’t bad and
everyone that worked there was like an extended family.
The restaurant itself had paintings all around, hanging on the walls, and
there was this one that was painted of our whole family (Dad, Mom, Erica and
me). One of the very few memories I actually have of my dad is sitting next to
him, in one of the booths, while some waiter hung the painting. I remember
that I hated the painting because I thought the artist had squished my face. I
was crying about it.
My dad got me an ice cream sundae and told me he thought I was
beautiful. Yeah. Right.
Well, my dad had a heart attack and died (not at the restaurant; it
happened a few months after). I can’t even remember what he looks like.
Except for the painting.
When my dad died Barley’s closed down, and the employees gave us the
painting. It was hanging on the wall adjacent to the T.V.
The memory of my dad made me instantly look over at the painting
hanging on the wall. There was my dad, Erica, me and….Damn it! I forgot to
check out about my mother.
It was then that my sister flung open the front door with this freaky
dramatic gesture.
“Erica Reynolds has entered the building,” I announced sarcastically.
“Shut up, freak.” Erica daintily hung her jacket on the coat rack and put
her backpack on the floor, out of the way. “God, I’m hungry.”
“Maybe if you stop sticking your finger down your throat you wouldn’t be
so hungry.”
“I’m sorry, KATHLEEN. But I am not bulimic.”
“Could have fooled me.” A pillow was flung at my head. “You missed!”
I could hear Erica walk gracefully towards the kitchen. I turned my
attentions back to the T.V. The greatest band ever, Green Day, was on and I
snuggled up, singing along with it. It wasn’t until the very end of the video
that I heard the huge wail.
I looked up in the direction of the kitchen. Did Erica just realize peanut
butter has fat? That’d make my day.
The wail came again and I, reluctantly, headed towards the kitchen. I saw
my mother and sister hugging each other, crying. I had the sudden urge to
leave and vomit, but my mother called me back as I began to walk away.
“Oh, Kathleen! Oh!” She was using my full name. Either she found about
my act of vandalism against the school dumpster or she ran over a dog. I didn’t
feel like listening about either. “Kate, I lost my job!”
“What? Mom, you have tenure!”
Erica hugged my mother tighter. “Don’t worry, Mom. You’ll find
something. A smart woman like you must be able to find a job somewhere!”
“I’m not so sure, sweetheart.” My mother grabbed for a tissue from the
box on the counter.
“Um, hello. Tenure.” I pulled out a chair and plopped down.
“Mom, you can’t lose your job now! What about Yale?”
“Aren’t you getting a scholarship?” Erica shot me a death stare. I turned
back to my mom. “And please explain tenure to me again. Because I thought
that once you GOT tenure, you couldn’t lose your job.”
My mother blew her nose and looked at me. “All the non-tenured teachers
have already been laid off. I was the newest tenured teacher. So they cut me,
too.”
“What, did like half of the school die and they don’t need teachers
anymore?”
“They just don’t have it in the budget, Katie,” she said, wiping a tear from
her eye with a tissue.
I felt my head fall down and I sighed heavily. This sucked. “So, what are
you going to do?”
“Well…” she started, but Erica cut her off.
“Why not look for another teaching job over at Fillmore? They seem to
always be hiring someone.”
“Would you let the woman finish?” I complained.
“Don’t you have a rock to crawl under?” she retorted, with a suddenly
stern look.
“Girls!” She huffed and closed her eyes. She only does this when she’s
tired or angry with us. I guessed it was a little bit of both. “Like I was saying,
the school has offered some of the laid off teachers a job.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Like a bus driver.”
Silence.
More silence.
“Say something!” my mother demanded.
“Well sorry. What do you want me to say? You’re going to be a bus
driver!”
“Give her a break, Kate. She just got laid off!”
“Well, I didn’t hear you saying anything.”
“Alright! I won’t be a bus driver.” She stood and walked over to the
fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. “There IS a teaching job I’ve been offered.”
This made Erica sit up straighter. “A teaching job? Where?”
I glanced over at my mom. She turned around and looked at us. “Well,
it’s kind of in…Idaho.”
Erica’s jaw dropped. I think mine may have dropped farther. “Idaho? Are
you psychotic? There are like five people and a million cows in Idaho! That is
the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard!”
I was so close to being grounded it wasn’t even funny (okay, I was just
using that phrase. It was freaking hilarious). At least we were staying here, and
she’s going to be a….a….bus driver.
“Who do you think is hotter? Dr. Carter or…Dr. Kovac?” Beth asked,
sitting on her bed holding the remote. I was relaxing in her bean bag chair.
Thursday was always a night that I spent over at Beth’s house. We were
devout E.R. fans, and have been since we laid eyes on Dr. Malucci (who was
kicked off the show when we were in the eighth grade. That blew).
But now it was more of a hanging out time than watching E.R. time.
“Carter.”
“How could you choose Carter over Kovac? Kovac’s got the looks,
accent, everything you need!” Beth rolled over so she was lying on her bed
backwards. The station was at commercial, so we could talk.
“Why did you bother asking then?”
She sighed and rolled so she was on her stomach, propping her head up
with her hands. “I was kind of hoping for an explanation to accompany the
answer.”
“Well, next time be more specific. Okay, you want to know why I like
Carter more?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Alright, he’s hotter in my opinion,” a “Whatever” came from Beth. “He’s
sweet. But he can also be a jerk, and I like a guy like that.”
“You like jerks?”
“Well, not a COMPLETE jerk, but a sensitive jerk. I think I’d get sick if I
spent the rest of my life with a guy who always agreed with me and did
everything I wanted.”
“Sounds perfect to me…” she trailed off and grabbed some popcorn from
the bowl she had made. She turned back to me and gave me a funny look. “Do
you realize you just described Matt Schroeder?”
Um, EXCUSE me? “Like hell I did! I was talking about Dr. Carter!”
Beth sucked in a breath. “Kate loves Matt! Kate loves Matt!”
I straightened in the bean bag. “What are you? Eight?”
“KATE LOVES MATT!” she sung out, louder enough for the entire house to hear.
I grabbed a pillow from her bed and threw it at her. She threw it back, and
a pillow fight was started (she was winning).
We knocked over her picture frames on her desk, half of the blankets on
her bed and the remote before her little brother Trevor walked in.
“What the hell?” Her brother was as much a teenager as I was.
“Trev! I need your help!” I called to him, hoping he’d join my fight
against Beth.
But instead he snorted at us, nodded his head a little and muttered,
“Girls.”
He left, and by doing so ruined the moment.
We fixed the pillows and rearranged her picture frames. Most of them
were of her and me, you know, in those photo booths and stuff like that. She
was one of the very rare people that I allowed to have a photo of me. The
others include: my mom, my grandmother and Matt.
No, I didn’t give him one. He stole one from me.
We were in homeroom in tenth grade. Our pictures were passed out in
those cheap envelopes that they come in. Beth and I exchanged pictures, which
we did every year.
Matt asked me for one (because he will stop at NOTHING to piss me off).
I told him to shut up and leave me alone, and then put the envelope back in my
backpack. Instead of following my orders, he walked by my desk and grabbed
my back pack.
“Matt!” I yelled, trying in vain to grab it back.
“C’mon, Reynolds, jump for it!”
And being the idiot I was I jumped for it…and missed. He laughed at me,
along with the rest of the class.
“C’mon, jump for it! You can do it, Reynolds!”
I stood and tried to grab it again to no avail. “Give it back, Matt.”
He shook his head and ran around the room, still clutching my backpack. I
chased him, and he finally stopped. I stood a few feet away from him, glaring.
“Give it back.”
He smiled, a perfect smile, reached into my back, pulled out a wallet sized
picture and threw the bag back at me.
He really is a jerk.
Anyway, I set up the last picture and fell back to Beth’s bed.
I was feeling a little bad. I hadn’t told Beth about my mom’s career
switch. And Beth was the person I told practically EVERYTHING to
(exceptions: my romantic life (mainly because I really haven’t had any), my
personal physical condition, my bad grades, etc.).
But it just didn’t feel right, telling her. I mean, I wasn’t even used to it yet.
My mom had always been an English teacher. And now she was going to be a
bus driver. It was a plain fact.
So, why couldn’t I tell Beth? Well…I was kind of embarrassed.
Don’t get me wrong: bus drivers can be cool. But I just didn’t see my
mother as ANYTHING other than a teacher.
“You okay?” Beth asked me.
I had just realized that I was sitting really stiffly on the edge of her bed.
“Oh, yeah. I guess my mind just wandered.”
“Okay, we completely missed the last fifteen minutes of the show.”
I grabbed the remote and turned off the T.V. “That show’s gone down hill
since Dr. Greene died.”
“Yeah, alright.”
Beth had to drive me home (because I couldn’t drive yet). She dropped me
off and left, waving good-bye.
The lights were still on in the house as I walked up.
Once inside, I found my mother sitting in the living room, watching old
home movies of Erica, me and her days as a teacher.
This could be bad.
But at least Beth wasn’t crying about the play. That would be worse.

REASON 3: MATT

The next morning was bad. I had stayed at Beth’s house later than
normal (thanks to the random pillow fight). So, when my alarm went
off at six I rolled over, gladly smacked the snooze button, and drifted back to
sleep.
Five minutes is NOT sufficient time to get the extra sleep a snooze button
supposedly supplies.
The alarm went off again and I rolled back, rubbing my eyes. I yawned,
looked down at the small box called an alarm clock.
“I hate you,” I told it in a lazy whisper.
I turned off the alarm completely and pulled the covers closer, enjoying
the warmth.
It was January, after all. And January in Upstate New York is bitter cold.
A knock came to my door.
“Huh?” I asked in a stupor. My mind was foggy, as I was still half asleep.
But the knock came again, followed by a bang. “What?”
“Kate, open your door!” the voice called to me.
I rolled over so I was lying on my back. What time was it?
I sat up straight when I saw the clock. It was seven-thirty. School started
in fifteen minutes.
Jumping out of my bed, I stumbled to the door.
“Kate! Get dressed; you’ve got to go to school!” I my mother yelled at me
once the door was opened.
“Okay…okay.” I got myself dressed and raced down the stairs.
The bus was long gone (it picks me up around five after seven). So my
mom had to drive me.
“For God’s sake, Kate. What were you two doing last night? Clubbing?”
At least she had lost her (bad) sense of humor.
“Sorry. I guess we just lost track of time.” I leaned my head against the
window, trying to catch a few more Zs.
Instead, my mother continued talking.
“You weren’t talking about this thing with my job, were you?”
Okay Mom, it isn’t a “thing”. It’s a PROBLEM. And a big one at that.
“No.” I closed my eyes. “E.R.”
“That show’s gone downhill since that Dr. Blue died.”
“Greene, Mom.”
“Well, whatever.”
We had made it to the school parking lot. I had exactly two minutes and
eighteen seconds before the bell rang. I opened my door, grabbed my
backpack, waved to my Mom and ran to the building.
Detention.
So not fair! I was only a few minutes late! Is it MY fault that no one in
this building can walk faster than a SNAIL ON WEED???
I spent most of Marshmallow’s class with my head on the desk. Like I
could take math after a morning like this (even if math was my best subject).
Mallow droned on about maximum and minimum values of derivates
(thank god Pre-Calculus was easy. I fell asleep so much in that class, had it
been hard, I’d still be taking it).
I felt something poke me in the back. I ignored it and continued
wallowing in my own self pity.
The poke came back. I slowly turned my head over my right shoulder and
saw Mike Kernigan, holding a folded piece of paper.
“What?” I whispered, wanting him to leave me alone.
“Matt told me to give you this,” he said.
“Matt isn’t even in this class.” I lay my head back on the desk.
“He told me to give you it this morning,” Mike whispered, dropping the
paper on the floor and then pushing towards me.
“Do we have a problem, Miss Reynolds? Mr. Kernigan?”
Awake now, after Mallow’s intrusion in my sleeping, I quickly kicked the
note beneath my chair. I didn’t know what Matt had written on it (and I didn’t
really care), but I was afraid that if Mallow saw it I’d find out sooner than
expected.
Unfortunately, Mallow did see it. “What have we here?” I winced, trying
desperately to hide the note. “Miss Reynolds? Please bring it forward.”
Everyone’s eyes were on me. I just wanted to die, right there. This could
not end well.
Slowly, I reached down for the note. Picking it up, I crossed the room and
handed it to Mallow. “I’m sorry Kate, Mike. But we do NOT pass love notes
in my class.”
My jaw dropped. AS FREAKING IF! I shot a look over to Mike, who was
smiling. What an ass.
“It’s not a love not, Mr. Mallow. I don’t even know what it is.” And that
was the truth. I could never understand what went on in that mind of Matt’s.
“Well, you never will,” Mallow said, ripping the paper in six pieces. I
watched, with a raised eyebrow. He had serious issues.
He handed the note back to me, telling me to throw out the pieces. I did
so, gladly, and returned to my seat.
“Alright, if the interruptions are done, we will continue. Now, when you
are looking for the inflection points, you must first find the SECOND
derivative…”
Mrs. Craven, my chemistry teacher, had detention duty that day.
“Miss Reynolds? Didn’t think I’d see you here today!”
Shove it up your… “I was late.”
“Oh,” she said, sitting down at the desk in the front of the room. That
woman was a witch. She even looked like one!
I grabbed a desk near the back, and rested my head on the desk, similar to
what I had done in Marshmallow’s class. This sucked. I was one of those types
of people that love to flaunt authority but never actually get in trouble. So this
REALLY sucked for me.
The hour and a half went by smoothly, with only coughing and sneezing
making sound. There had only been three people there, excluding Mrs.
Craven.
Once outside, once again in the light, I made my way to the parking lot. I
had asked Beth to wait for me, but she had to baby-sit Trevor.
So, instead, I had to walk home. This was going to be fun...Not.
But as I made my way across the parking lot, a pick up truck rolled up to
me and stopped.
“Need a lift?” It was Matt, driving his dad’s truck.
“No.” I continued walking past the car, hoping he’d leave me along. But
of course not.
“Hey!” he called, driving up along side me. “Did you get the note?”
“No, Mallow did.” And I continued walking.
“WHAT?” He stopped the car.
I smiled. Good, he needed to be annoyed. He annoyed ME to no end.
“Mike tried to give it to me and Mallow took it and ripped it up.” The
color slowly returned to Matt’s face. He smiled, and gestured to the passenger
seat. “C’mon, get in.”
I rolled my eyes, weighed the options, and decided to take the ride. It was
better than walking, especially in all the snow.
Once in, Matt pulled the car out of the parking lot and headed towards our
houses. “Did he read it?” he asked me.
What was he talking about? “Did who read what?”
He sighed, irritated. “Did Mallow read the note?”
“No, why?” Matt was so confusing sometimes. No doubt the note was
about something embarrassing he was going to tell people if I didn’t give him
the answers for the homework (Matt was above average in everything BUT
math, which is completely opposite to me).
“Um, did YOU read it?” His face was starting to pale again.
“No. Will you PLEASE tell me why this note is so important?”
He smiled, and checked the speedometer. We were in the area what was
infested with cops dying to hand out speeding tickets.
“Nothing,” he said a moment later.
I rolled my eyes. “You’re a jerk, you know that?”
“How so?”
“Well, I already got a detention from Mallow for being late to school. And
then you had to make Mike give me that note, which made Mallow even
MORE mad.” I crossed my arms across my chest, happy that I had a legitimate
reason to be mad at Matt. Usually I was just mad at him for no reason.
“As long as you didn’t read it I apologize.”
“And if I had read it?” I saw that we were reaching the cul-de-sac that
contained our houses. Good, only a few more minutes of Matt.
“Then we’d be discussing something ENTIRELY different.”
“Why are you so weird?” I asked him.
He smiled and pulled into our shared driveway.
We both got out of the truck, and I pulled my heavy coat closer. “Hey,
Matt?”
He was already at the top of the stairs leading to his house. “Yeah?”
“What was that note for anyway?”
He smiled, opened the door, and walked into his house.
It was later that night. I had just gotten off the phone with a talkative Beth.
She wasn’t upset about not making the play anymore. The reason she didn’t
make the play better not be because she’s a midget. That’s a violation of the
EOE (well, I don’t think Equal Opportunity Employment includes school
plays, but you get my point).
I finally got her off the phone, and was about to just pull my covers over
my head and sleep until I heard my name being called. I groaned, loudly I
hoped, and shoved open my door.
My mother was in the kitchen when I got downstairs. “What?” I asked
sleepily.
“Kate, it’s only eight-thirty,” she said, sighing a bit because I was wearing
my pajama bottoms. I don’t usually use the matching top. I just wear whatever
shirt I wore that day to bed.
“So? I’m tired. Is that a crime?” She gave me the evil look. It’s a wonder
that I haven’t been shipped off to military school.
I stood, staring at her. “Why did you call me?”
“Huh?” She blinked a few times. Is it possible that when my mother
married my father that some of my grandmother’s genes got passed on to her?
“Oh, yeah. Matt’s at the door.”
“C’mon Mom. I told you how to handle that. Just get a broom and-”
“He wants to talk to you.” I swear she said “stupid” under breathe but I
didn’t have the energy to argue.
I sighed heavily and walked over to the door. Under normal circumstances
I’d have run up and changed back into my jeans but this was Matt, my next
door neighbor since I was born. I didn’t care if I wore my pajamas around him.
I mean God; we used to sleep over at each other’s houses when we were kids.
Before I realized he’s a complete jerk.
At the door I found Matt, whistling and staring behind him. He turned to
look at me and I rolled my eyes. “Nice sleep wear,” he commented.
“Haven’t I dealt with you enough for one day?
He smiled this really annoying smile. Maybe I should stop here and
describe this guy. He’s gorgeous. He has slightly tanned skin (if I try to tan I
burn) he has the short, kind of spiky but kind of not spiky hair (I have plain
brown hair; not really dark but not really light) and perfect green eyes (plain
old brown eyes for me. Nothing more, nothing less). So, of course it’s my luck
that I hate him.
Not that he hasn’t given me a reason to do so.
“Let’s go swing.” He began to walk to my back yard. When we were kids
(Erica, Matt and I) our parents (all four of them at the time) decided to chip in to buy one swing set for the three kids. So, it was placed sort of in the middle
of our adjoining backyards.
Matt sat on the good swing, the one that was worn-in. I got the stiff
yellow. The seat was a little wet from the light snow from earlier in the
evening. I stood up and just leaned against the side.
“I got the lead role.” He started to swing. I could feel the change in weight
through the plastic.
The snow was not very high, unusual for January. So, he was able to
swing. I was starting to wish I had a jacket on. It was really cold.
“Um, yeah. I figured that out when I saw Matthew Schroeder at the top of
the cast sheet.”
“What were you doing looking at the cast sheet?”
“What were doing auditioning?” A brief silence, and then, “Beth tried out
and I was looking for her name.”
“Did she make it?”
I dropped my arms from the position across my chest that they were in.
“What do you think?”
Matt gave me a lopsided grin and swung a bit higher. “Well, that’s too
bad.”
“Are you going to tell me why we’re out here?” I was ready to leave. I
really didn’t need this right now. “And please tell me what that that note was
about?”
“I’m not allowed to talk to my neighbor?.” He ignored my second
question.
“No, you’re not allowed to talk to your neighbor.” I began to walk away
when I heard a thump. I turned around and saw that Matt had jumped off the
swing and was standing in front of me. I did a double take, because I was a
good fifteen feet away. Some of the snow on the ground got splashed up onto my shirt, making it slightly wet. Ugh. “Why aren’t you out with the other
preppy sheep? It’s Friday night, you know.”
He snorted a laugh and looked over at his house. “Why don’t you believe
I have a genuine desire to talk to you?”
“Because you represent everything I hate. You’re a jerk. You’re a
conceited ass and you’re-”
“I heard your Mom lost her job.” That was out of the blue.
He stopped me dead in my tracks. And I was just getting started, too. He
was serious and all I could think off was how he was doing it again. You
know, just having to be the one controlling the conversation.
“How did you know that?”
“Um, our moms are like best friends.” Oh, yeah. I had forgotten about
that. But just because he has easy access to my life didn’t mean he had a right
to discuss my mother’s employment status. “I was just mentioning it,” he
responded after I had spoke my thoughts.
“Well, can we please keep this bus driver thing out of school, okay? I
haven’t even told Beth.”
“What bus driver thing?” Oh, crap. “Wait,” he spoke between laughs.
“You mean your Mom’s going to be a bus driver?” He howled with laughter.
That is, until I slapped him hard on the arm. “Ow.”
“Yeah, you better say ‘Ow’. Now, I’m going to bed. Good-night.” I
smiled sweetly, returned to my normal, bored, facial expression and began to
walk away, shaking snow from my pants.
“So this means you won’t help me with my lines?”
I stopped walking. “What’s wrong with Erica? Isn’t she you’re opposite?”
“Yeah but.” He looked up at the only window on the back of my house,
Erica’s. He walked closer to me and in a loud whisper said, “I can’t really
understand half of what she says.”
“Welcome to my world.”
He laughed, and for a moment I felt good. The only thing about Matt that
I like is his laughter. He has a great laugh. But the moment quickly passed and
I turned to leave.
“Good night, Matt.”
This time he let me go.
It took me another hour to fall asleep.
I woke the next morning at six (which was Saturday and I was
ALLOWED to sleep in) to the sound of Erica’s voice. Not just her normal,
cooler-than-thou voice. No. It was her theatrical voice. Ugh. I have grown to
loathe that voice.
“But Bradley! Why can’t we get married?” I assumed, in my state of
lethargy, that Bradley was the name of a character in the play. What I wasn’t
expecting was the other voice that permeated into my room.
“Because, Madeline, I am poor and your father will not allow me to marry
you.”
What the hell?
“I don’t care, Bradley. Things can change.”
The deeper, male voice said in a low whisper, “Things can never change.”
I took me about twenty seconds to realize who the voice belonged to.
Matt.
I tried to go back to sleep, but the harder I tried the louder Erica got. I
don’t know if it was psychological or if the girl just enjoys making me suffer. I
finally gave up and, wrapping my blanket around me, walked into the living
room.
As I walked in I saw Erica, over near the corner, fake crying. Matt (who I
assumed was Bradley) was standing in the middle of the room, looking at the floor. I stood with an expression of confusion on my face. “It. Is. Six. O’clock.
In. The. Morning. Will you please SHUT UP?!”
Erica turned around and Matt looked up. “Hey, you’re awake.” Very
good, Matt! Now let’s try our multiplication table.
“Good. She can be Lila.”
My mind was swimming, trying to take it all in. “Why are you doing this
NOW?”
Shoving a script in my hand, she walked back to her corner. “Because
Matt has a basketball game later today and I have my National Honor Society
meeting in an hour. This is the only time we could practice. Now read your
line on page four.”
I glanced at the line, looked over at Matt, who was laughing, and sighed. I
walked over to Erica (still wrapped in my blanket) and read, with as little
enthusiasm as possible, “Oh no, Madeline! Your father is on his way.”

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 30.09.2009

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