Love Notes - By Heather Gunter Page 0,2

a level of acceptance at school, I have never found any one that accepted me completely.

As far as boys, I’ve never had to worry about them either, since I’m not a lot to look at. Oh, I’ve had some guy friends, but I was never more than anything but a mere friend to them. Sure, I would have liked to have gone out on a date, but to be honest I never found anyone I liked enough. There is also the fact that the thought of bringing a boy home to meet my dad makes me feel physically ill. It terrifies me and scares me more than anyone could ever understand. There really is no telling what he would do or say.

I psyche myself into getting my ass up and start getting ready, reminding myself that it could have been worse. At least I’m starting on the first day of school and not mid- year. I try to tame my unruly mass of hair. I'm unsuccessful. It was starting to resemble Medusa, not exactly what I’m going for on the first day. I may not be much to look but I at least want to look my best and give some kind of good impression.

The worst part of starting a new school is the looks you get. I would almost prefer to be invisible.

When I am as ready as I’m going to be, I head into the kitchen to grab some breakfast. Stopping short as soon as my feet touch the linoleum, I spot my dad drinking a cup of coffee at the bar. I inch my way into the kitchen hoping against hope that he ignores me and pretends that he can't see me. My hope crumbles when I hear, “Charlie is that what you’re wearing? It looks like you’re completely trying way too hard.”

Aw, stupid hope.

I glance down at myself. I’ve never professed to be fashionable in any way. However, I do pride myself on wearing clothes that fit and don’t make me look frumpy. I dress for my size and shape. I’m wearing a pair of slimming boot cut jeans with a dressier tank top and a short sleeve cardigan that at least covers some of my butt and a pair of wedged sandals to help me look taller, not to mention my hope to look slimmer. If I was only a little taller I would’ve been better proportioned.

I can’t help but question his remark and try to not let it get to me, trying being the operative word. My mom chooses the perfect time to walk in, still dressed in a robe. She must have heard some of this conversation because she looks at me with indifference really but says that I look fine. I choose this moment to bolt.

My relationship with my mom is strained at best. We rarely speak and she’s like a shadow. She allows my dad his freedom of speech and sits back and let's it happen, regardless of the impact is has on me. I don't know how many times my dad has been on a rampage she has made an excuse to up and leave the room. She wants no part of it. I have tried talking to her about it in the past but it has proved futile. Her only advice is to stay out of his way. The funny thing is…, I do.

It doesn't seem to matter though.

No matter what I do I anger him.

As soon as I climb into my Jeep, I feel lighter. I feel as if the weight of all of the house bull shit falls away and I feel instantly better. You know how some people have a safe haven? My Jeep is “it” for me. Maybe because I paid for it with my hard earned money. A job I had to beg to have. I worked so hard for several summers to save the cash. Summer time was never a fun time for me, like it is for most teenagers.

Or maybe it was?

It meant not being home and enduring whatever would be dished out at me. When most teenagers were out with their friends having fun, I was begging for a summer job. So yes, I love my Jeep, which I've named Lexie. Why Lexie you ask? Because it's girly, simple as that. It’s white and the top comes off. I pull my iPod out of my backpack and plug it in. It’s the first thing I do every time I get in