I'm going to be late to school but I don't care. I have to take care of mother. It's just us. Father died in the war when I was six, since then I've been looking after mother.
I push my blonde angle curles out of my small,pale, face. Noone believes that I'm 16, they think I'm a lot younger. I'm wipping the sick off of mother and pick up the phone to call her carer. I start to dial when the door rings. "I'm just going to get the door okay?" I softly say to my sleeping mother. I open the door and there's her carer. She's got pink bubble gum hair and is always chewing gum.
She pushes her way past me. "That's the thrid time you've been late." I say, arms crossed. The carer laughs. "Arr. Is thel ittle girl trying to be an adult." She's saying in a baby voice. God I hate it when people do that! "Don't talk to me like that! Next time you're late, don'tbother coming here because you'll be fired!" I'm standing my ground with my school bag on my back, my sky blue eyes blazing.
The carer comes over to me and slaps me hard on the cheek. It stings like hell but I'm not going to let her see me cry! "And that's what happens when you talk to me like that, you little brat!" She spits at me. I ball my hand into a tight fist and hit her back. She looks shocked but I run out the house. I haven't got time for her today, I've got school!
I start running. I'm good at running, I get it from my father. I sigh thinking about him. Man, I miss him. I stop and look back to my house. Maybe I should stay at home at look after mother, I don't trust her carer. The only reason she's looking after mother is because we can't afford anyone else. I start running to school again. It takes me about five minuets to get there and I'm out of breath! I speed walk through the parking lot, walking past many cars but my eyes linger at a porsche. Whoever owns that is one lucky bitch. I quicken my pace, not wanting to be any later.