Romance Fan Fiction ❯ How Did I Fall For A Gang Kid? ❯ High School is for Fighting ( Chapter 3 )

“Anya, hurry up or you're going to be late,” my mom yelled from downstairs.

 

Is it just me, or does my mom yell for me a lot?

 

I can already tell today is going to be bad. First my alarm doesn't go off. Then I forgot to change Eclipse - my cat's - Litter Box so she peed on our carpet. And now I've got to go all the way to the East Side to pick up Diana in her car and I'm already 10 minutes late.

 

I'm about ready to say screw the day!

 

“I'm coming,” I yelled, throwing on the first clean shirt I find (a dark maroon tang top) and run, almost fall, down the stairs.

 

Mom was already holding the keys out for me so I just brushed past her on my way out, grabbing my backpack and tossing it on my right shoulder.

 

It takes 10 minutes to reach Diana's house and from the moment I pull up and she gets in, she's already started yelling. “Mendoza, I swear if I'm late for school I will hang you by your hair onto the flag pole and leave you there for 7 days and 7 nights.”

 

“What are we, god now?”

 

“If it gets me to school on time, yes!”

 

I sighed while attempting to hide a laugh. “Yes, your majesty, your faithful steed shall get you to Andrew High School in less time than it took to build the ark.”

 

“It took 100 years to build that thing, you nimrod,” she joked, losing the `God' act.

 

 

“My apologies great father, er…mother of all.”

 

“Jeez, read a Bible for once. Didn't you ever go to Sunday School?”

 

“Er…no?”

 

She rolled her eyes and laughed.

 

We had about 3 minutes left before we got to school and began the life of a senior once more, so she began questioning my reasons for needing her car.

 

Once I finished filling her in on what Marcus had said, we had arrived and were running towards our first class, English. Thankfully, we still had a minute left before the bell rang. Plenty of time to get there.

 

“Oh my Jesus, so your dad's here! That's so crazy.”

 

“Yeah,” was my only response, seeing that we had made it to class and the last chorus of How to Save a Life was finishing. It's supposedly the administrators attempt to make school fun, songs during passing periods. I guess there fine as long as the music isn't any rap.

 

As I always say, you can't spell crap without rap.

 

“Ms. Mendoza, Ms. Ronalds, you are late,” Mrs. Reymar told us. To put as a heads up, this woman is bitch. They should just put a sign on her forehead saying, “STRICT TEACHER. BEWARE!!!!”

 

Oh ya, they did. The hair pulled back so tight it's going to rip, and the small glasses made for dolls only. They usually give it away.

 

“Sorry, Mrs. Reymar, we got stuck in traffic.” Of course we weren't late, we were right on time, but fighting with Reymar only gets you stuck in detention all week.

 

Believe me, I know from personal experience.

 

“Well sit down. And if you're late again, don't bother coming to class.”

 

As she turned around to write the daily assignment on the board, Diana and I flipped her off. “I saw that.”

 

“Why must god give teachers eyes in the back of their heads?” I asked sitting down before Reymar could truly bite our heads off.

 

`So when do I get to meet him,' Di wrote on a piece of paper putting it near me so I could write back.

 

Me: Meet who?

Di: Your dad duhhh

Me: Uh, never! Weren't you listening? He's a flake and 100% NOT my dad anymore

Di: Anne!! You can't just let him die. Oh know, what if he is dying this very second and you can't help him?

Me: then I'll feel better about this world.

Di: That's horrible! He's your dad.

Me: No. He's a stupid druggie. And he works for the Latino Blood! I'm not mixing myself in a gang. Especially not if I have to work with Dominique and Alejandro.

Di: THE GANG KIDS! You'd be working with Mr. and Mr. L.B.! Why didn't you tell me that?

Me: Because I'm not doing it.

Di: Okay, now even I wouldn't save your dad. Totally not worth it. I mean, Castro and Ramos are so—.”

 

Anything more she would've written was ended when Mrs. Reymar picked up the note.

 

“Ah. Ms. Ronalds and Ms. Mendoza have something to share with the class.” She was about to start reading what we'd written!

 

“No we don't,” I screeched attempting to get the paper back.

 

“Oh but your notes look so very detailed. Look how long they are.”

 

And of course, she began reading our entire conversation to the class, to the many snickers of our fellow students.

 

Once she had finished reading, there was dead silence. I surveyed the class to see a lot of the East-siders looking down at me like I was a freak for having a gang-dad. And the West-siders were looking amazed that my dad was in their circle.

 

Of course, Alejandro and Dominique, who were both in my class as well, were cracking up, probably thinking it very funny that we were in trouble.

 

“Ms. Mendoza, see me after class,” was all Reymar said before returning to the front of the class.

 

“Holy. Shit,” was all I could say.

 

“Sorry Anya,” Diana sympathized.

 

“S'okay.”

 

After the bell rang, I waited for the other kids to leave the classroom so I could get my lecture by Mrs. Reymar over and done with. Unfortunately, unlike most times teachers lecture me; Diana wouldn't be waiting for me. My next class wouldn't be with her, so she just headed off to art. I wouldn't be in class with her until after Lunch.

 

“Ms. Mendoza,” Reymar began the lecture. “I sympathize with what you're going through, but please do not talk about it in my class.”

 

Sympathize? That's…strange.

 

“Yes. Sympathize.” Crap, did I say that out loud? “My brother got into gangs when I was just about your age. It hurt me as well.”

 

“No disrespect Mrs. Reymar, but my dad being a gang member doesn't `hurt me'.”

 

“Not yet, it doesn't. But it will.” She turned to her desk to get a small business card out. “Here's the number to a psychological therapy office. If ever you need to reach out, they can help. And the school would be more than happy to pay for your sessions.”

 

I had to laugh. “Why do you even have these? You can't seriously expect me to go to therapy!”

 

“Ms. Mendoza I would appreciate it if you would remember who you are speaking to.” Crap. I almost forgot she holds the power over my English grade this year. “And I don't expect you to. I don't expect anyone I give these cards to, too. But it is my hope that you understand your options at all time.”

 

She gave me a moment to realize what she was saying before telling me, “You may leave.”

 

I turned to leave and she called to me once more. “Oh and Anya.”

 

Ignoring the `Anya' part I turned around. “Ya?”

 

“Do not write notes in my class again. No matter how important.”

 

“Yes ma'am,” I saluted, walking out. I heard her sigh as I closed the door.