TW: References to child abuse

I didn’t really expect Mom to choose me over her other family, though.  It was clear she absolutely worshipped Phil, her perfect daughter, and the perfect life she had, and I didn’t see any reason she would want to risk that for me, a stranger who just so happened to be related to her.  Honestly, I thought it was nice enough that she – and Phil – had agreed to let me stay despite all of that.  They were kind of generous, weren’t they?  Shouldn’t that count for something?

Them taking me in should count, too, I informed Kat.  They could have refused and sent me into foster care.  I don’t want to screw things up for us and get tossed out, or screw things up for Mom, either.  And if that means I clean around the house a bit and cook some meals, well, chores are normal for kids, right?  It wasn’t like I was thrilled that I wasn’t getting accepted easily, but cooking and cleaning – those were things I could do, and once they saw how perfectly clean I kept the house, they’d have to acknowledge that, right?

For some, sure, but you’ll notice Princess Jolene doesn’t get any chores and would probably have a tantrum if you suggested she actually had to do any sort of work.  Kat was practically rolling her eyes.  I don’t like the situation, Ezra, I really don’t.

I knew what she meant, but I wasn’t as bothered by it as she was.  I saw doing some chores in exchange for my room and board not being so very unreasonable.  It wasn’t ideal, but I wasn’t a little kid anymore, either.  I could handle it.

I finished with the floor and started cleaning out the mop before putting it away.  I’m cool with it, Kat, I told her firmly.  Just let it go.

I could hear her grumbling, but she accepted my verdict and stopped complaining.  Well, verbally.  I could almost feel her disapproval as Jolene ran in shortly afterwards and demanded I go to my room because her friends had just arrived and she didn’t want them to see me.

I was actually glad to get back to my room and pick up the textbook again.  Phil worked for the school board or something as their lawyer, I wasn’t sure of the details, but one of the things he’d warned me about was that due to his connection to the school administration, I needed to have excellent grades so as not to shame his name or whatever.  I had a feeling that meant I probably shouldn’t skip classes, either, like I had before, even if I didn’t actually need the in-class time in order to learn the material.  But anyway, to prove I was taking this seriously, I’d asked him for a copy of the books I’d need once school started so I could make sure I was up-to-speed on what this fancy new private school would require.

I just hoped that once school started and I proved I could get good grades – and be useful around the house, and not get into trouble like Phil apparently expected teenage boys to constantly do – then maybe they’d stop frowning at me so much and start just accepting me.  I didn’t need them to be super friendly to me, but right now this was the closest thing I had to a family, and I really wanted them to see that I wasn’t going to threaten their perfect life after all.

I just wanted a place to belong.

~~~~~

“Uh.”  Petra stared as I wiped food off my backpack.  “Why don’t you report them?  The cheerleaders are bullies, everyone knows that.  But no one ever reports them.”

I shrugged casually.  “It’s not that big of a deal to me.”

Petra pointed to my backpack.  “They just threw soup on your stuff, dude.  It’s going to stain it and could damage your books and whatever inside.”

I shrugged again.  “It’s not that big of a deal.  It’s not ruined, I can still use it, so who cares about a bit of soup?”

“You’re so weird,” Susan murmured.  “That would totally ruin my day, but it’s like nothing can ever ruffle your feathers.  Not a bad weird, but still weird, you know?”

Petra and Susan, like me, were kind of outcasts in our school.  We weren’t exactly friends, more like allies by situation.  We weren’t the rich kids, so we didn’t wear brand name stuff and drive fancy cars, and therefore naturally we were all targets for bullying.  Jolene and her cheerleader friends were the worst, which was kind of ironic given that Jolene was the reason I took the bus and didn’t have fancy clothes like she mocked me for, because she’d whined to her dad that she didn’t want to have to split her allowance with me and he’d promised that she wouldn’t.  Mom had bought me some clothes, but just department store stuff, not the fancy stuff like most of the kids wore.  I honestly didn’t care about stuff like that, but apparently a lot of the students did because that was important to them, I suppose?  It was stupid, but whatever.

We headed to our next class, where Petra moaned about the calculus test we were about to take and Susan mumbled various stuff to herself that sounded like it was supposed to be stuff related to calculus but sounded like she might have gotten some of her details wrong.  Before I could warn her about that, though, the teacher called us to order – glaring at the three of us, as if expecting us to be problem students since we were “poor” – and started passing out the tests.

I took the test very carefully, making sure I worked through each problem and was absolutely sure that the answer was correct before proceeding to the next one.  I could feel Kat kind of watching during this, but we had an agreement that she wasn’t allowed to say anything during tests because it felt too much like cheating, so she stayed silent.

Sometimes I wondered if she was bored being stuck with me like this, especially when lately my life had consisted of attending classes – even if they were incredibly boring and I just needed a few minutes with the textbook to learn what I needed to know – cleaning the house, making meals, and studying at home.  I didn’t have an interesting social life and didn’t really have time for hobbies, because I was dedicated to proving I could get perfect grades and keep the house spotless.  Then they would understand that I wasn’t going to destroy their lives, right?

School dragged on, boring class after boring class.  I had learned that I couldn’t let my boredom show on my face or my teachers would complain and I’d get called in to talk to the principal, which was frustrating since I was trying to prove I was on my best behavior.  So I had to make sure I looked focused even though in reality Kat and I were often engaged in rambling conversations about whatever topic struck our interest.

I caught the bus home at the end of the day and put my stuff in my room, then got to work prepping dinner before checking on things in the house.  The bathrooms were spotless, but some of the stuff in the living room was messed up.  I straightened the throw pillows and folded the blankets into perfect squares before placing them in the chest, then organized all the remotes and knick-knacks until everything looked perfect.  I decided to sweep and vacuum next, just to make sure the floors were pristine, then headed back to start cooking dinner while planning what table setting to use.

After dinner, once everything was cleaned up, I did my homework and then went to bed, knowing that tomorrow would be more or less the same.  That was okay, though.  This wasn’t that big of a deal.  I could prove I wasn’t going to be the threat to their happiness they all thought I was.

Over the weekend, things changed a bit only because I got into more deep cleaning.  The weekends were when I washed the windows, polished the floors, or anything else that was more time-intensive.  I didn’t mind, because work like that was satisfying and straightforward, and I could talk to Kat the whole time, though I could tell she didn’t like it.

I was waxing and polishing the floors today, carefully applying and polishing everything and slowly working my way from one end of the first floor to the other, minus the carpeted floor, which I intended to shampoo.

Ezra.

I could tell from Kat’s tone that she wanted to complain, so I decided to ignore it.

Ezra.  She sounded frustrated now.

If it’s a complaint, I don’t want to hear it.

Just stop!  She practically shouted in my head.  Look at your hands!  Look at what you’re doing!  Do you get it?  Your hands are cracked from all the washing and you’re more worried about getting blood on the floor than about the fact that they’re hurt.  Then you just go right back to work, trying to make everything perfect.  It’s already fine, Ezra!  It’s clean!  It’s better than anyone could ask for!  You can’t make it brand new again.

I almost put my hands behind my back, but it was kind of pointless since she already knew what they looked like.  I can make it as perfect as possible, I reasoned.  They can’t complain if it’s perfect.

Oh, I bet they can, she snapped, and no, you can’t.  Perfect isn’t real, Ezra.  It’s a theory, an ideal – it’s not reality.  You know what you’re doing, right?  You’re starting to obsess over perfection in an effort to get them to like you, and that’s no good.  You’re hurting yourself.  You’re verging on compulsive behaviors – you know you cleaned the kitchen counter three times yesterday, after it was already spotless?  “Just in case” you missed something?  Just stop it!  Stop letting them get into your head!  They won’t accept you even if it is perfect!  You know that, deep down.  Stop trying to earn their approval.

That stung, deeply.  I couldn’t fully deny it, but I still hoped.  I still hoped that somehow, if everything was perfect, that they’d accept me.  It wasn’t that I needed to be accepted into this rich lifestyle, I just – I just wanted a place in this world.  I wanted to belong somewhere, and this should be it, right?  My mom and her family?  Shouldn’t that be where I belonged?

Besides, I wanted to prove that I could still be accepted even as a boy.  Some part of me felt the judgment from Mandy’s parents, from Phil, from the teachers – everyone expecting me to be a problem child and not wanting me just because I was a boy.  I couldn’t even voice that to Kat, because she’d get mad about it, but she was also an attractive, confident woman, so people accepted her.  I knew that.  But…no one accepted me as me.  No one apart from Kat, who as much as I loved her, could never provide physical reassurance like I sometimes longed for.

I could feel Kat’s sigh as she realized I wasn’t going to answer.

Don’t do this to yourself, Ezra.  You deserve better.  Don’t let them make you think you have to be perfect to be accepted.  You don’t – you’re perfect in your imperfect way and that should be enough.  If these people won’t accept you, someone else will along the way.  Petra and Susan do, right?

They just hang out with me because we’re the same, I pointed out half-heartedly.  They think I’m weird, remember?  And they don’t opt to hang out with me if they can help it, they just think there’s safety in numbers so that’s why they do.  They don’t dislike me, but they don’t like me all that much, either.

They like you somewhat, at least, Kat argued stubbornly.  But anyway, just forget all that.  If no one at this stupid school and in this stupid town will accept you as you are, then screw them – we’ll find someone later, after we’re adults, who will understand.  Maybe even someone who can accept both of us.

That would be ideal.  Someone who knew about Kat and me and didn’t find it weird, creepy, or whatever they might want to call it.

Maybe someday, I agreed.

It was a nice dream.