Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Perfect

I'm sick of trying to be perfect. I'm sick of disappointing people; of not living up to their expectations. I'm not some robot. I swear that people think I am. They tell me something once and then suddenly I'm supposed to repeat it back to them just as perfectly. Well, I'm sick of it. I'm through with trying to be Little Miss Perfect.

I hear footsteps in the hall. They grow louder, each step closer to my bedroom door. S***! I dump all of the crap on my bed onto the floor, and then scramble to shove it all under my bed. His fingers twist on the knob on the door. I quickly analyze the situation. Everything is hidden out of sight. Except for one thing, I remember.

I hop on the bed, and as I pull the covers up to my neck, he opens the door. My dad. Phew. That was close.

'Hey, hon`,' he says, sweetly, 'I just came to say goodnight.'

I smile, but of course it doesn't reach my eyes. In my head, I'm panicking. Play it cool, I tell myself, but he notices something is up.

'Is everything okay?' he asks as he plants himself on the edge of my bed. I'm afraid he might kick something, so I nod vigorously, anything to get him out of my room. He doesn't buy it.

'Dad,' I say, trying futilely to add some extra persuasion into my voice. 'Basketball was kind of rough today, and school was a little overwhelming. It's been a stressful week,' I add.

His brows furrow, and he purses his lips. 'Okay, just make sure you get a good night's sleep.' He gently pats me on the head as he rises to his feet. He walks slowly to the door. Could this moment be dragged out any slower? I think. He turns when he reaches the door. 'Goodnight,' he says lovingly. 'Love you.'

'Love you too, Dad,' I say quickly. He smiles, and then closes the door behind him.

I sigh in relief. That was close.

I leap up off my bed, and pull the items out from under my bed. I open my laptop, and sigh happily because my conversations are still open. I compare the objects in my hand: cover-up; both pale and tan, a spoon, and toothpaste. I sigh as I reopen my search page on Google. I retype in the search bar, 'How to get rid of hickeys' and instant message my friend, who spent an hour helping me find supposed cures for hickeys. So far, none of them have worked.

Just another disappointment I guess. I wonder how long it will be until my team finds out about this. I gulp, imagining what will happen if my dad sees this. I instinctively place a hand over my neck, thinking up excuses. I was never good at lying. Maybe I could say a vampire bit me, I think dejectedly before returning to my pile of possibilities.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback