Perfect. It's a very strange word. Most likely because it doesn't exist. Nothing is perfect. Flawless, faultless, exemplary, and ultimate are all words that describe it. Nothing can be any of these. People use this word too much, for the fact that is doesn't exist. But when they try to describe me, they obviously don't know that.
"Oh, here comes Perfect!" Jared teased as he elbowed his friends. I tried to ignore them. "How's you're day been? Oh wait, let me guess, perfect!" his friends all chuckled. I could feel my face turning red. I didn't want them to know they were getting to me, so I walked quickly. They kept teasing me, but I couldn't hear them over the sound of myself sobbing. I then raced to my next class. As I walked into the classroom, everyone gave me dirty glares. "Ok class, I will be passing out last week's exam." Mrs. Smith announced. As the papers got passed out, I could hear the groans and sighs from the people with poor grades, which was everyone. Except me. Mrs. Smith handed me my exam paper, 100%, as always. I glanced over at the papers of the people around me. The grades ranged from 65% to 0%. I could hear Mrs. Smith clearing her throat. Oh, great, here we go again. "The highest percentage made on this exam was, oh my, 100%! That's a record! And it was made by miss Abby. Well done!" I could almost feel all the angry eyes glaring at me. And of course, my face was turning red, again. "Well done, Perfect. You did it again!" I heard a boy whisper sarcastically under his breath. I would do anything to not be called 'Perfect'. It doesn't mean I'm "perfect" just because I have high scores. But wait, I could change that...
'Beep, beep, beep, beep!' I slapped my alarm with all the strength I could muster. I squinted at the numbers on my alarm, 5:00 a.m. I slumped out of bed into my organized closet and grabbed my school uniform. I threw it on and scuffled into my bathroom. Then, I brushed my hair and slapped water onto my face. I heard shouting coming from downstairs. Mom and dad are awake, I thought to myself. I slinked down the stairs into the kitchen. "I told you to clean the dishwater last night!" mom scolded. "I wasn't here last night!" dad replied defensively. "And I'm not your slave! I already do enough around here!" "Okay, that is it! I cook, clean, and do everything else you can think of for you! And you can't clean one dishwasher load!? You need to help out around here if you're going to be the man of this house!" mom yelled. "Maybe I don't wanna be, maybe--" "GET OUT!" mom bellowed. "Get out of my house right now." she whispered. "I don't know why I ever called you my husband, because I certainly will never call you that again. Get out." The man I used to call 'dad' sauntered out the door. A single tear rolled off my mother's cheek. The same happened for me.
There. You just caught a glimpse of my perfect life. Don't you wish you could be me...
Chapter 3 In a haze I finish getting ready for school then walk into the kitchen. Mom is leaning against the counter, and is crying. I watch as tears fall and land on the granite countertops. I walk over to her and rest my hand on her shoulder. She looks up at me and gives me a sad smile.
"You heard us fight." It isn't a question, but a statement. She knows I did. I nod and take a step back. "He's not coming back, is he?", I whisper. "I don't know", she tells me and pulls me into a hug.
Whatever happens now, I will work so hard to make sure my mom has something perfect in her life.
Author Notes: hope you guys like it!