This afternoon, after three-hole punching my homework assignment and tucking it into my binder, I walked out of history class, turned the corner by the language labs, and heard our friendship ending as you spoke to Missy Hamilton: “Abigail just hates her mom, we all know what that’s like.”
“But why does Abigail hate her; her mom sure doesn’t seem like the angry Thunderdome bitch that cooks me dinner.”
“Well don’t tell anybody, but her mom’s a drunk…like she drinks A LOT…the other day we walked home together and when we went inside Abigail’s house, her mom was passed out on the sofa in the living room.”
Missy said she wouldn’t tell anyone what you had said, which we both know means she will start her Tuesday tomorrow by telling everyone she sees.
But don’t worry Susan, I’ll be sure to tell Missy about why you hate your Dad; I want her to have a happy Wednesday too.