"I'm not leaving!" I screamed in my moms face, as I dashed up the stairs and slammed my door shut.

Dad had been offered a job in Phoenix, and I was having none of it.

I sobbed quietly into my pillow, my face ever dampening, and listened to the happenings downstairs. They were screaming amongst themselves - shouting in each other's faces, most likely - and it wasn't the first time.

They had been arguing for a while now - debating what was best for me - to stay in Miami, or to move. I was adamant that I was going to stay here, and that was that.

My parents thought the opposite.

My head yelled at me to go along with their precious little lifeplan; my heart was stubborn that I belonged here.

A million questions, statements, spun around in my mind, and as I forced my eyes shut to enable myself to think for a moment, I begun to realise that the house had fell silent.
They had stopped.

I curled myself up into a ball, hugging my knees, and anxiously anticipated the inevitable. Another lecture. Another lecture to attempt to convince me we had to move.

They were never able to change my mind.

A knock. Two knocks. Three, four.
I froze.
Five.
Still frozen.

After what seemed like an eternity, mom barged into my room, ruining my occupied shelf yet again.

"MOM! WOULD YOU GET OUT ALREADY!?!"

"No, I will not. We really need to talk," she sighed.

"Well I don't want to listen!" I replied, covering my ears like a child, "lalalalalalalalalala."

"STOP BEING SO IMMATURE!"

"Lalalalalalalalalala."

Her face turning crimson, she grabbed my hands and forced them off my ears.

"GET OFF OF ME!"

"Just listen!"

"No! You won't listen to me, so why should I listen to you?"

"Because I'm your mother!"

"Well, I wish you weren't!"

I immediately regretted that statement. My hand flew onto my mouth, as I gasped and tried to comprehend what I had just said.

I attempted reading my moms face. It had an almost aquiline touch to it now. Her features were sharp, defined. Her face did not have the scarlet shade to it anymore; it was pale, a pained pale.

She left the room, her head in her hands.

What had I done?

***

Next day, I threw on some clothes, and sprinted downstairs, through the front door - I didn't have time for breakfast.

I was carrying a bottle of water in my hand, taking little sips as I ran up the school bus' steps.

"Hey, Isabella!" Reneè called out from the back of the bus, gesturing for me to sit with her.

The bus was crammed, as I'd got on the last bus there was of the morning.
I sunk down onto the seat next to her with a sigh, an almost longing sigh.

"Another argument, huh?" she half-smiled, gently placing her hand on my shoulder in efforts to comfort me.

I nodded.

"Do you think I'll have to move?" I stared down at the floor, twiddling my fingers around apprehensively.

"It all depends, really."

"What do you mean?"

"If you come up with a valid reason of staying here, except from 'I'm not going because I don't want to', maybe they'll listen," she shrugged, and then her expression became puzzled, "maybe if you make them see..."

"Make them see what?"

"Make them see they're making a mistake... Eh, never mind,"

"Nevermind? My life could be ruined, wrecked, obliterated, and you're saying a simple 'Nevermind!'. Have you gone insane?"

"Maybe."

The bus came to an abrupt halt, and... Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

The water bottle was open.
It spilt all over my mix-match apparel, as if it wasn't hideous enough.
I looked like I'd peed everywhere.
My cheeks began burning.

"Oh hey! Look at dork face!" Sarah pointed a finger at me, giggling, "Didn't you ever get potty trained?"

Sarah had never liked me; never liked anyone who wasn't perfect or up to her 'standards'. Over this past year, she'd gotten more and more popular, (more than I'd like to express) and that'd only made her worse.

The whole bus exploded with laughter, even Reneè grinning.

I took in deep breaths, and attempted to hide my stained jeans, to no avail.

"You're so stupid, dork face!" Sarah cackled her evil, witchy cackle.

I hid my face with my hair the rest of the journey, my complexion redder than a ripe cherry, boiling, possibly even over 1000 degrees.

Maybe moving wasn't such a bad idea after all...