Free Rock My World by Sharisse Coulter Page A

wouldn’t talk to anyone, consult anyone, or ask for
anyone’s help. She could just do it. How had it taken her thirty-four years to
figure this out?
    Later that
night, glass of wine in hand, she ceremoniously mounted the poster size frame
that would soon house her image of liberation. She envisioned herself looking
calm, exuding intimidating confidence. Afraid of nothing. The good thing about hitting rock bottom was having so much less to fear. She
couldn’t say she had nothing to fear—she was the mother of a teenage
girl, after all—but the two people she’d counted on to be her anchors,
her pylons of strength keeping her from sinking in a sea of worst-case
scenarios, had simultaneously abandoned their posts. And yet she was still
standing. Figuratively speaking, anyway.  
    Somewhere
around the third (or maybe fourth) glass this newfound confidence morphed into
something akin to self-pity. The victim came out again. She hated that girl for
being so damn whiny and pathetic. But how
am I not a victim? She sniveled.
    Maybe she
shouldn’t have finished that bottle off by herself. On a
nearly empty stomach. This was why she busied herself with projects and
shunned introspection. It was dangerous. And dizzying. Her cheeks were wet
again too. The world spun so fast around her. She couldn’t keep up. And then
she passed out.

 
    Chapter 15
    “Your
homework tonight, and every night this week,” Felicity’s teacher, Ms. Joy,
addressed the class of high achievers as they shifted impatiently in their
seats, “is to write a short, one-page vignette on a family member. They can be
about anything … classroom appropriate,” she clarified to the much too
enthusiastic hands going up around the room. She paused for the collective
groan of disapproval. “I want you to learn something. It’ll be fun. It can be
historical or gossipy or even abstract, but it must be
written by you , from their point of view. Now is the time to get the
dirt you’ve been wanting to get on your parents and get school credit for doing
it.”
    As the bell
rang, releasing their waning attention spans, Felicity slowly packed up her
notebook. The class cleared out quickly. It was last period and everyone was in
a hurry to get to practice, work, or just out of the classroom. “Is something
wrong?” Ms. Joy leaned against a nearby desk, arms folded in watchful concern.
    “No.”
    “Are you
sure?”
    “Yeah … no …
” Felicity stared into her neatly packed book bag. “I was just wondering if it
has to be about a family member. My parents are out of town so I’m staying with
my grandparents … and they’re really busy. I think I could write a more
interesting paper on a stranger or historical figure instead.”
    Ms. Joy,
accustomed to lying teens doling out outlandish excuses, teased out the line of
truth. “Ask them. I’m sure they’d love to take the time to tell you stories.
Grandparents live for that sort of thing. I think you’ll be surprised.”
Felicity nodded.
    “Okay, I’ll ask.”
    “You have
the second highest GPA in your class; I’m sure you can write an interesting
paper on someone in your family. It doesn’t need to be scandalous, just
interesting to you.” Ms. Joy tilted her head, eyebrows cocked in that pitying
look teachers give students who put too high expectations on themselves.
Felicity, on the other hand, didn’t appreciate being reminded that she was
second to perfect miss Sadie. Dejected, she left the classroom and headed down
the hall to her locker.
    “Hey Trey,” she said.
    “'Sup?” he
said, tilting his chin up in lieu of a wave hello. “You wanna go to the beach? Bonfire party tonight.”
    “Nah. I’ve got homework.” She closed her locker
and pulled her long hair into a messy ponytail. He followed her down the hall
toward the parking lot.
    “Can you
give me a ride home?”
    His eyebrows raised and he put a hand to his
chest. “Would your mother approve?”
    She rolled
her eyes at him. “She