Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 60165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
“I’ve been thinking, Annabel, that college seems like a huge waste of money,” my father announces as he goes back to his steak. “Everyone knows that degrees are worthless nowadays. It’s not like it was back in my day when a degree would secure you a job.”
“But I’m at the top of my class! I’ll get into a good school,” I feebly protest.
“That’s what worries me. Good schools are the most expensive. I’m not paying that kind of tuition for four years, Annabel, and that’s final. You only have yourself to thank. I might have given it another thought if you hadn’t had a lapse in grades this week. But clearly, you don’t care as much as I thought you did, so I don’t see why I should.”
“But Father—” I start to protest, but he interrupts me again.
“I said that’s final, Annabel. I will not be questioned about how I spend my money. It’s not going toward a worthless degree you’ll never even use. You’re staying home, at least until you find some other poor sod to leech off of.”
My blood runs cold as I realize what he’s saying. I gape openmouthed at him in shock as I watch him devour his dinner like nothing’s wrong. It’s as if he’s just announced a cancellation of a drink order, and not the demise of my entire future. No one is saying a word. My mother hasn’t touched her food, and for once, neither have I. Normally in possession of a strong appetite — to the consternation of my mother, who is constantly trying to put me on diets – my plate is still full, but for once, I’m not hungry at all.
Bile rises up in my throat as I try to find the words to protest what’s just been announced, but I can’t speak. I’m about to ask to be excused, but our butler, Timothy, arrives at the table carrying the house phone. There’s a call for my father. Roger accepts the handset and starts talking loudly on the phone, ignoring me entirely, so I simply slip away and leave my mother to lie in the bed she made. I used to feel sorry for Marisa, but she chose Roger and married him. And, she’s chosen to not stand up for herself every day since.
No one notices me leave. At least if they do, they don’t seem to care. I walk down the richly padded hallway to my room, forcing myself to stride calmly and to resist the urge to slam the door. Inside my bedroom, I lean against the cool wood of the door, feeling my throat tighten as tears well up in my eyes. But I swallow it all away and pick up my phone to call Jessica, my oldest friend.
“I actually hate them, Jess,” I announce into the receiver as soon as she answers the phone.
“What’s happened now? Are you okay?” her concerned voice comes from the other side of the line. Concerned, but not surprised. Jess knows what I’m talking about because she’s encountered my parents quite a few times now.
“No, I’m not,” I say, choking back tears. “My father is so awful; I can’t believe it. And my mother! So cold and wooden and weak, and she doesn’t do anything when she’s bullied. How is it possible,” I say, my voice trembling, “that the two people who made me are the two people in the world that I don’t resemble at all? In personality or looks? I hate them!”
“Don’t worry, Annie,” Jess says sympathetically. “Senior year is almost over, and then we’ll be off to college, and you’ll be free of them. You’ll only ever have to see them on holidays.” This is what finally pushes me over the edge, and I’m not able to hold back my tears any longer. My eyes brim with tears so that the huge space of my bedroom becomes blurry and my throat tightens up again.
“Annie? Are you still there?” asks Jess with concern in her voice. I swallow hard and try to answer, but it just comes out as a sniffly mumble. “Annie? What’s wrong? What happened?” my friend asks, really concerned this time. I complain a lot about my parents, and Jess is always there for me. She’s heard it all before, but this time it’s different because I very rarely cry.
“Apparently,” I manage, my voice thick with tears, “that A-minus I got in math this week disqualifies me from going to college. Apparently, my degree will be a waste of money. Apparently, I’ll never use it anyway,” I blubber, tears rolling down my face and over my lips.
“What?! What are you talking about?” Jessica exclaims.
“I don’t think I’m going anymore, Jess,” I whisper through my tears. It’s either whisper or wail. “My dad said he thinks it’d be a waste of money.”