Nora Timberlake

I waited impatiently as Dad takes his sweet time to park the car. I swear he does it on purpose. He tends to become mean ever now and then, when I do something particularly bad.

I climbed inside as soon as he unlocks the doors. And then all hell broke loose.

"Seriously Nora? I think you have more detentions than the rest of school population combined. There have to be a award for that. The only thing you put effort in is getting detentions. What I am going to do to you? Even college students aren't THIS FUCKING BAD." He says all this in one breathe, glaring at me. "What were you thinking paying a boy for breaking into school's operating system and changing your grades? You're new for fuck's sake."

I snorted, trying to maintain a serious face, but it's so  hard to control my laughter. In my defense, he was looking comical and frustrated, it was a pretty nice change. Usually it was him, who pull out immature stunts and me hiding behind my hands. Looks like I turned things around this time. 

I honestly swear he is not always 'the distressed parent' in our relationship. 

"You actually believed what they told you I said?" I said, looking out of the window after he had calmed down a little.

"Wait, you mean that you made that up? Why would you do that, Red?"

Why the heck would you call me that absolutely weird nickname? I would've loved to ask back but refrained from doing so. He loves that nickname, more than me, so if I wanted dinner (which he did not cook) I should keep my mouth shut.

"Reasons." I muttered, tugging the collars of my oh-so-familiar leather jacket.

"What reasons? Come on tell me, I promise I won't tell your mom." He said, stressing on the word 'mom'.

"Which mom?" I asked, rolling my eyes.

"Oh, you know Winter, the love of my life and your father." Dad shrugged, looking back to see if he running over someone.

"You do know that Papa hates when you call him 'my so-called mom'?" I asked, raising my eyebrow.

He chuckled lightly, "Do you think you're father can hate anything? You say the weirdest things sometimes, I can't even imagine it. " I felt a jerk as he pulled out of parking of my school.

I did tried to imagine in, my Papa, with gray eyes, which indirectly inherit from him and fluffy blond hair, which I did not inherited from him and a genetic calm expression. He is a child specialist and hating someone or something really go against his nature.

I snickered, "Alright, you win, Dad."

He chuckled, "Told you so." He suddenly stopped, "Wait, I think I am forgetting something."

He frowned as I beamed at him, shaking his head slowly, he sighed, "Never mind. I am getting a headache."

I smirked at the window, he was just so  gullible. Even as an university professor, he was just dumb when someone manipulates him or feed him lies. I thanked heavens that Papa haven't came to pick me up, he was much more on street smartness than Dad. They kind of balance each other out.

My smirked slipped just like that, they are the best parents out there.

And yet people say that being gay is evil and that I deserve much better than to be raised by 'fagots'. I want to rip their throats out, however violent that makes me because they are the evil ones.

I exhaled softly, I can't change those people. I can't make them see the truth, realize their faults and that sometimes make me feel powerless. I feel that what is the point of my existence if I can't change some things like a toxic stereotype and cruelness of people.

Maybe I am just being a little dramatic, but I hate that there are people out there who don't like the two most wonderful beings who raised me and cared for me with all their body and mind, just because of who they are.

Looking back at Dad, a small smile came back to my face. He and Papa were my world, I am prepared to do anything for them. I may be young in their opinion, but I have a pretty good idea on the world works. My parents had gone through hell, so that they can be with each other and start a family. I was willing to sacrifice everything in my power to help them.

Ahem. Too sappy for me but true.

"Why are you staring at me like a creepy stalker?" Dad asked frowning a little.

I shook my head and patted his head, making him slap my hand. I laughed, trying to mess his hair up to purposely to rile him up.

He made a sharp turn in the direction of our house, making me clutch to the seat-belt. How the heck did he get his license? Did he bribed somebody? Or worse killed his instructor, buried his body and paid money to an impostor?

I glanced at his crazy black hair, which looks exactly mine and gulped. I live with a murderer. Should he be allowed to teach university students? Would they take him away to jail? I don't want him to go to jail.

"Did you killed your driving instructor?" I asked, seriously.

"Red, you know I love you and all that. That's why I am asking you, what is wrong with you girl? I swear I don't get what goes up in your head." He said, parking the car.

I shrugged, "You know, Dad, the usual. And it's a teenager thing to worry about non-existent things. Though, I strongly doubt you killing your instructor would be non-existent."

We walked towards the front porch, him swinging a baseball bat and me rolling my eyes, trying to find somewhere else to look at and not at the neighbors who grimaced from their lawn. Why does he even have to bring that home? I know he play at the Uni, but don't he have a locker or office? Does he have to bring the bat home? No wonder, neighbors don't dare to come to our house. A maniac or two lives here.

"No, I didn't killed my instructor. Now that I think about it, he was swaying a bit too much. Maybe he was a bit drunk." He muttered quietly, mulling over the topic.

I smirked, "That explains a lot."

"What?" He turned towards me.

"Nothing at all. By the way, East Lake practice starts at four in evening. Are you going to drop me off or I have to walk?" I asked, steering the topic from his awful driving skills.

"The soccer team practices? I can't actually, I have got a bunch of assignments to grade. Wanna make me check with your father if he could?" He asked walking towards the kitchen.

I don't know why he even go there, he can't cook to save his life.He claims he can but in reality he can't. l

"Nah. It's alright, I was planing on walking." I turned back as I walked towards my room.

Getting inside, I kicked the door closed and let my body fall on the bed. 

The light grey walls were peaceful and in contrast with the black furniture. I know, I know how emo of me, but I like it. Rubbing my head, I picked up my school bag and emptied it on the desk.

A bunch of books fell out as I searched for a particular paper. I found it, tucked neatly between the pages of my math textbook.

Name : James Elliot.
Age : 17
Popularity scale : 10/10
Sexual orientation : Gay, not even Bisexual, just gay.
Middle school : Quiet kid with a lot of friends.
High school : Bad boy with a lot of acquaintances.
Last Relationship : Silver River
Family : Unknown

I smirked, at least the nerdy kid was useful.

I was being a bit creepy but that guy doesn't seem the type I can turn up to him and say that I would like to be his friend, best friend even. Can I?

Of course I can and I am planning to do it. Just a bit of research won't kill. Just to know which topics to avoid, like his recent breakup or his sexuality.

Maybe the reason I was so dead set on to become his friend, because for the first time in my life, I just have this gut feeling that I won't regret picking up his book from the floor. I just know it.

I signed and crumpled the page containing his full data and tearing it into pieces. I just can't finish reading it. I dumped the teared page into the dustbin near my desk before flopping back on bed.

All that trouble and I can't even use the information because of my stupid conscience.

Bloody hell.

A/N: This is dedicated to every single person who took the time to vote or comment. Thank you! ^_^

Ciao!