I could sugar coat this and make it seem like I have reasonable excuses like my homework was too difficult, or I had family problems, but to be honest, I just couldn’t care less about assignments. With global warming, the bad economy, war, natural disasters, and whatever else going on; what are we actually working towards? Homework just seems like an afterthought. And no, I don’t have ADD if that’s what you’re thinking. Lexipro, Ritalin, tutors, therapy; they’ve tried it all. I’m just a slacker as most would say.

I sat down; in front of a familiar face I got the pleasure of seeing at least three times a week. I made my self comfortable. “How’s the wife, Bill?” I couldn’t help but let a smirk play upon my lips.
“Parker, these last couple of weeks will decide your future. You have so much potential, and I hate to watch you do this to yourself. In the long run you will regret not doing your work. Maybe not now, or graduation, but you will, Parker. I can guarantee that. I think you just…just need a motivational push. An eye opener. So here it is: you’re on academic probation.”

I opened my mouth to object, but he had already interrupted, “Not a word, Mr. Harlstood. Now get out. I better see improvement in your grades.”
I continued the rest of my day as I normally would; hovering over my text books as I covered each page with doodles, not participating in class, and giving –today’s- reason on why I was unable to make the time to finish the work I had been assigned.

I am a bit of a misfit, I guess you could say. Not by choice, but fact. This is why I’m pretty fond of New York. My main reasoning is that I can fit it. Well, appearance wise, that is. There is nothing extraordinary or grotesque about me that would cause people to stare. I had brown hair. Not short; nor long. I was 5.11’; pretty average height. I had green eyes, which may not be entirely common, but it’s not like I’m the only one. They weren’t purple or anything. There was absolutely nothing about me that would draw any attention. And for this I am thankful.

I crept into our apartment, letting a sigh of relief escape my lips seeing that my mother wasn’t home yet. I looked into the cupboard, grabbing a box of honey combs and pouring them into a bowl; the classic after school snack.

“Academic probation? Really, Parker?!”

I jumped. I didn’t here the door open, nor close. But I definitely know that my mom is now home. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. Let’s not over react.”

“Over react?!” We are talking about your future!”
“Ill figure it out…” I took a deep breath, grabbing my bowl from the counter. It had been sitting now; the milk adapting a sweet taste from the honey in the cereal. “I’m going to watch TV.”

“No! No, you’re not going to watch TV, Parker! You are not leaving until we figure this out…” She covered her face with her hands, “if you don’t graduate, you won’t get into college. Parker; if you don’t get into school, you will not get a job. This is the real world.” She spoke slowly, as if I were too stupid to comprehend what she was saying.
I had enough. I raised my voice unconsciously, “I’ve had a long day at school, and I’m tired! I am going to my room now and will relax for a half an hour…” My mom had her hands on the kitchen counter now, looking at me with pleading, exasperated eyes, “and then I will do my work, okay?!” This came out much whinier than I had intended, but I could not tolerate that look she always gave me; it had a habit of bringing out my inner child.


I really did plan to do my work, but as I began drawing I just got so engrossed in my work that I “lost track of time”. By the time I realized how late it was, I was too exhausted, and, well lazy, to even think about homework.

“What do you believe is the romantic element in the story? Anyone?” Mrs. Angst put her glasses down to the bridge of her nose, as she began to intently scan the room for innocent students to prey on, “Parker.”

“Yes?” I glanced up from my drawings.

“You’re answer… to the question.” She paused, hoping I was thinking, but knew I had no clue what the question was. “What is the romantic element in the novel, Parker? As if you actually completed your assignment.” She laughed silently to herself, as if she were actually funny or entertaining. A bad teacher habit.

“-Actually-…I think the fact that the author described the scene from one side of the city to the other, not from the perspective of an all-seeing god, but a bee; the most humble creature, is pretty romantic all in itself.”

She smiled. A warm, honest smile. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile before; or at least at me. I don’t remember the last time a teacher smiled at me, really. “Parker… I think you’ve found your term paper.”

Fantastic. Ms. Angst asks me a question about a book I had already read before she assigned it, and now, she suddenly decides to start expecting things from me. I liked it much better when everyone believed I was a hopeless cause.

Next hour I had art. Where I didn’t belong. Where Mr. Harris yelled at me out of frustration because “I need to find what I want to say and say it!” Where in reality, I had no clue what I wanted to say. Every time I think of something to paint, I feel like I’m full of… I just feel like I’m trying to be something I’m not.

No; instead I decide to leave for the rest of the day. Oh well.

Rule 1 to skipping: Cutting class is fun.

Rule 2: Cut rarely to preserve the specialness.

Rule 3: Avoid crowded places at all cost.

Simple.

You see, there’s not much to do when you skip on your own though. But let’s be honest, who do I have to skip with anyways? No one.

As I walked out of the discount theater that played old films and down the bustling streets of New York, I spotted a familiar face. My step dad, Dave. His office was on the other side of town, and he doesn’t get long breaks. At least not long enough to make it all the way over here, that is. I acted before putting any actual thought into it. I began to trail him.

It was pretty boring actually. He started just sitting at the bus stop, reading his news paper. I suggested that he was possibly taking the bus back to work. But when the loud bus came rolling down the street, screeched to a stop, picked up its passengers, then continued on it’s way; roaring down the street, Dave was still sitting there with his paper.

From there I followed him to a cheap coffee shop, where he sat on his own. It was obvious something was up; I’m not stupid. It was easy to see. I went to the huge skyscraper building where his office was located. Standing by the door and looking up, it looked enormous, but really is was the same as any other office building in New York City. Men and women dressed in blazers and pin strips all gave me looks as I made my way to Dave’s office. I don’t blame them; teenagers in office buildings aren’t exactly common. I stopped in the middle of the hall when I found the door, leading into his office. His name on the brass sign: Dave Vigozi. And below that, an eviction notice.

“I’m actually quite excited to read your term paper, Parker.” Ms. Angst, my literature teacher, stood over me with a warm smile placed properly on her lips.

Oh… right, my term paper. Great. “I…don’t have it.”

A heavy sigh, weighed down with disappointment and frustration. “Go to the principal’s office after school. It’s time that we discuss your grades.”

The rest of the day went by faster than I would have liked. In a sense, I guess I was anxious for the “talk about my grades” I mean, I do care; maybe not as much as I should, but I rather not have to sit through a lecture, only to go home and receive another one from my mom and Dave.

I entered the office and sat to face the unhappy, disappointed, stern expressions of my teachers and of course, the principal, Mr. Lizewski. I didn’t exactly know what to say so I just softly cleared my throat as a subtle hint to tell them they can begin.

“We’re done. You can play the angles, Parker, but it’s not going to work anymore.” Bill, or Principal Lizewski as I probably should call him, jumped right into it. My professors stood around him with the same expressions plastered on their faces.

“We don’t want to watch you just throw everything away… We know how you think, Parker,” Ms. Angst, my lit teacher spoke up, her glasses low on her nose. “You think that you’re a failure. That you’ve already messed everything up and it’s too late, but it’s not.”

Mr. Lizewski interrupted; most likey because he wanted to get down to business, where it seemed as if Ms. Angst were comforting me. “Basically you get two options, Mr. Harlstood. Complete -every- assignment given to you this year…or expulsion.”

My brain went fuzzy in confusion like a bad radio station, as I tried to process their words. “Wow.. I-I don’t know what to say.” The truth is, I didn’t feel like I had to explain myself to them. I cared; but not about school. I was ambitious; but not enough to finish a year’s worth of homework in a week. I wanted to make my mother proud; but not enough to work this hard towards graduating. “I guess…. I’ll have to take expulsion.” I shrugged. It was an easy decision, really. It would be impossible to do that much work in such a short period of time.

Mr. Lizewski sighed; obviously out of disappointment. “This decision will decide your future, Parker. Think about it…please. And give me your final answer Monday.”

Well that wasn’t –too- bad. I just pray the school has called my mother already. I would take my time walking home, and hopefully it will give her enough time to cool off.

I slowly crept into the house, “EXPULSION, PARKER??!” Nope. Not enough time. I turned in one swift motion and headed towards the door. “No! You are not leaving until we think of some way to help you! I will not let this happen to my son!”
“We need to figure out your problems, Parker,” Dave stood from the couch and eyed me sternly.
I was flabbergasted. My problems?! He’s such a hypocrite! I acted upon his words with out thinking, “What about your problems, Dave?” I said this slyly, knowing my mom had no clue what I was getting at.
“Problems?” She stood there; a face full of shock and curiosity, “W-what problems?”
“Tell her Dave! Tell her why furniture has been disappearing piece by piece lately! Tell her how you’ve been roaming the streets; pretending to be at work! Are you still working out of a coffee booth like a homeless person?!”
Dave had a short fuse. And he was a bomb about to explode. He jumped towards me, but I had already anticipated his assault. I turned and ran to the door; gone within seconds.
I just ran. No idea where I was going. No I idea how fast I actually was. No idea how much endurance I had. I just had to get out. I regretted saying what I did or at least how it all happened, how my mom had to figure out, but hey, I’m Parker Halstood; I do things without thinking. It’s what I do. Once I realized how out of breath I was and how much my chest hurt, I finally stopped running; finding myself in Central Park, where I sat on a cold bench, head in my hands, gasping for air, deep in thought. It was June. It was late in the day, but the sun was still up. Its bright yellow rays contrasted with the green scenery, causing a beautiful sight.
After contemplating, I opened my phone to see two hours had passed since I had thrown Dave under the bus. Three missed calls, all from Mom. I went over my voicemail. Each the same as the last; telling me how we had to talk, begging me to come home. I felt like I owed something to my mother now, considering I probably ruined her night. Although, the truth would have come out eventually. So go home is exactly what I did.
She was already there waiting for me on the couch. Her expression filled with motherly worry. “There you are!”
I went and sat next to her, comfortingly throwing an arm around her petite form. “I’m sorry…” I’m still not exactly sure if I meant this or not. Yes, I was sorry for making her upset. But telling her about Dave? Not so much. I never got along with him, and it was obvious there was no chance of a happy family relationship anyways. I thoroughly scanned the room, “Where’s Dave?”

She sighed, but not a sigh filled with disappointment as I was used to; instead with sadness and resentment. And the sigh was actually not directed towards me for once. “Gone. I kicked him out.” She rubbed the back of her neck with her boney, semi-wrinkled hand, “I threw him out, Parker.”
“Oh.” Oh? All I could make out was…oh? I wanted to comfort her, I really did, but there wasn’t much to say, honestly.
“We’re getting a divorce” Her eyes filled with tears. She immediately covered her face with her hands. She never wanted me to see her as weak, which was understandable. I pulled her close to me, in attempt to sooth her. “I don’t know what we’re going to do, Parker! I don’t have enough money to pay for the apartment on my own… or for anything, really. We –need- Dave.”
“We’ll figure it out.” We’ll; as in my mother and I. It’s as if a little electrician, late for his appointment, fused all the loose ends of my brain together, then pressed the RESET button. Everything clicked. I hated seeing my mother like this. And I –definitely- don’t want to end up like Dave! I –won’t- end up like Dave. He’s useless. I won’t be a burden to my mother. She needs my help. I will graduate.

When Monday came around, I practically sprinted to Mr. Lizewski’s office to tell him I had changed my mind. He was obviously pleased, but he did that wise, sly, adult thing as if he knew how this would play out all along. “One piece missing, Parker…no graduating.”
I’m not going to lie, the last week was probably the worst of my life. That was the time where I wish I had ADD. Where I could just take a pill or two and suddenly be able to focus and get things done. I lived off caffeine; pulling back-to-back all nighters. It was hell. But definitely worth it.
Done.
Done with everything.
And when I say everything, I mean everything, but art. I starred at the blank canvas and could just hear Mr. Harris screaming at me, “Just find what you want to say, and say it!”
I thought about the past couple of weeks, everything that had happened. I picked up my brush dipping it in the cold colors of blues, purples, and greens.
Dave would be my character. Sitting alone with his pathetic little briefcase. Because without him I would not be here. Jerk or not; he was my motivational push. Not Mr. Lizewski’s speeches, or Ms. Angst comforting, not even Mr. Harris’s nonstop yelling; but Dave.

Graduation came sooner than I would have liked. The last week seemed rushed. I sat there, black gown and all as a sea of endless names were called off, “Amy What’s-her-face, Zach Whatcha-ma-call-it, blah blah blah.”
Mr. Lizewski’s low, authoritive voice rang through my mind, “One Piece missing, Parker…no graduating.”
Then I heard Mr. Lizewski’s voice once again, but this time not the one in my head, “Parker Harlstood.” Clapping. Even some cat calling. This was it. What everyone in senior year was waiting for, except me that is. But now I was filled with more excitement and accomplishment then I would have ever imagined. I slowly walked up to Bill to receive my diploma; trying to make out if this was real or not. When I envisioned my future a month ago, there was no high school diploma in the picture, but here I am. My finger’s curled around the thick, off-white paper; it was mine. Mr. Lizewski once again gave me his wise, elder look. “Anything is possible.”