"God is our refuge and strength, always ready to help in times of trouble." Psalm 46:1

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"Now remember, don't you get in trouble, young lady. Or you will regret it," Ms. Mallory told me, sending me a glare. 

Geez, if looks could kill . . .

"Yes, ma'am," I answered back, keeping my voice and face blank. Though, I wanted reply back to her with sarcasm, it probably wasn't a good idea. It wouldn't do any good to get her angrier and more annoyed, seeing that she was already angry and irritated because she thought I was dilly-dallying because she was impatient. 

She looked at me with a suspicious look, but I didn't care. I didn't what she thought. I stared out at the window, listening to the music going into my ears from my iPod. The trees sped by, blurring with the sky as she drove the car to school and as I went back to the past. 

"Daddy, why don't you like me?" I asked, the tears flowing down my face. I rocked back and forth with my knees drawn in, scared for he had just finished yelled at me.

He looked at me, drunk. His eyes were glazed with drunkenness, but he still focused his eyes on me. "Like you?" he asked, as he tried to stand up. He stood up, but lurched as he repeated again, "Like you?"

His face . . . I had never seen that much anger. His face became angry and filled with hatred as he came towards me, saying, "I don't like you because you killed your mother. No, I don't just like! I hate you," he spat. "You killed her! You killed Anna!"

"Anna!" he howled, grief and anger in his cries. He came toward me, and I knew what he was going to do. I was frightened and shocked.

Did I really kill mama?

"Daddy, don't. Please. Don't hurt me," I whimpered, rocking back and forth harder. 

He looked at me, anger and grief and so many emotions on his face as he whispered, "It's too late." And he slapped my face.

"Luxilla Parrilla, were you listening?" Ms. Mallory growled at me. Her voice snapped me back and I looked at her, focusing my eyes on her. 

"No - no, ma'am," I stuttered a little, my throat dry from the fear of the memory of my father. I still felt the sting from his slap, even though it was years ago and he had disappeared. It felt so real. Figures. It was real, once.

"No, ma'am," I repeated again, being careful to not let the fear and the emotions I felt, show in my voice. 

"Of course, you didn't," she gave me annoyed look, looking at me through the slits of her eyes. "Well, Luxilla Parrilla. If you feel that I am worthy of your attention, please pay attention to me," Ms. Mallory sassed, as she stared at me from the rear-view mirror. I nodded at her and I looked out the window again, rolling my eyes slightly, but listening to her.

"The principal will be outside to meet with you and to tell what you need to know and then he or she will show you your schedule and your first class," she explained to me again, annoyance in her voice as she made a left turn. "Have I made myself clear, Luxilla? I hope I don't have to repeat myself," she growled at me. 

Why does she growl? It seems like she's been growling a lot, these days.

I nodded again and said the same old words that I've said for a long time. "Yes, ma'am."

You've made yourself very clear.