The sky was a blanket of dark cloud, a dull grey that stretched from horizon to horizon, and a quiet, persistent wind stirred the dust in the streets. It was the perfect weather for the children to run wild, and they did, their laughter both loud and soothing as they ran barefoot through the neighborhood, kicking up dust into the damp air. Despite the gloom, the day's usual business continued with determination; here, in the poorest and most forgotten part of the country, no one could bear to miss a day of work. The area was spacious, not by design, but because no one had the ability to fill it. And here is where I lived with my mom and my elder brother.
I was currently seated on the low step in front of our almost fallen home, the rough concrete biting into my thighs. Mum sat just behind me in the doorway, her focus divided between scolding me and stirring the large, simmering pot of candy she would sell at the school where she taught the following day. The rhythmic clink of her spoon against the pot seemed to punctuate her anger. The more she stirred, the more she scolded, her voice very bitter.
"How could you? Am I not trying enough? You had to go to that woman to show her how bad I am doing. What exactly is wrong with you? What exactly do you want that I am not doing my best to provide?" She was hurt; I could tell. But Mum had always proven strong. No matter the shame or the embarrassment, she would never show you weakness. She might curse you later in private, but she would never cry in front of you, never let you see how deeply you had struck. She was my iron lady.
"I am sorry?" I muttered.
"Of course you are," she snapped, the spoon clinking faster. "When exactly will you stop being sorry and actually heed?"
I remained silent. That question couldn't be answered; I doubt I ever will. My mother had always been from the lower class of society, an orphan, in fact. But she was also an undeniable beauty and smart too. She had met my father, the young master of a wealthy family, when she was in college, and they had fallen in love. Immediately after graduation, they planned to marry. My father's family was completely against it, vowing to disown him if he went ahead. But he went ahead nevertheless. He and my mother, not rich but doing well, had my brother. After five years, I came along. Just a year after my birth, my father died after a dire ailment. His family came for his body but refused to acknowledge us, his children, saying we weren't one of theirs. My mom accepted this; she didn't want anything to do with them either. She moved back to her childhood home with me and my brother and began life anew as a kindergarten teacher and a petty trader, earning very little to cater for us or even herself. But she was undeniably trying her best.
I had always been her savage and uncontrollable daughter. And as the years passed, with a new kind of suffering arriving every day, I just couldn't take it. Two years ago I began tracing my father's family and going to them, one by one, to make my presence known, though they barely even looked at me. Several times, Mum had no idea—until today. Today, I went directly to my father's mother, the head of the Whiston family. Not only did she have me bundled out, but she also phoned my mother and warned her. And as expected, Mum was more than pissed.
But it was all so unfair. I didn't want to be part of their family. All I wanted was a little money to start up my leatherwork business. I needed the money from it to go to college, or, better still, for one of them to employ me or my brother. But they all turned their ugly backs on me. Thinking about it, I was just as pissed as Mum. But what could I say?
My name is Jenna Maurice. I am nineteen years old, red-haired, tall, and possess very beautiful grey eyes and natural red lips—a perfect combination of my mom and dad. I just got into one of the best colleges in the country on a half scholarship. I am poor as hell and just as stubborn. I don't want to be cooped up in this situation, waiting for a miracle or moving with the flow of life just like Mum hoped to avoid problems. I want to be a bird, a very free bird, even if the problem was the way to get it.
My brother, Levi, is kind of my complete opposite. He is twenty-four and works as an attendant in a mall. He is relatively calm and gentle, the perfect example of a go-with-the-flow person. He never gets into a fight or argument—unless it involves me. Then, he sheds his calmness immediately. I wish he could be like that all the time, but unfortunately, he is a big preacher of peace. How pathetic. He doesn't have a single piece of clothing that isn't patched, because his boss keeps cheating him out of his full wages, and he still believes in peace.
"Get your ass off that spot and find something better to do," Mum said finally, her voice worn down to a sharp edge.
I stood up casually, brushing the dust from my skirt. "I'm off to the leather shop," I said. I grabbed my worn bag from where it leaned against the wall and walked off without looking back. That leather shop was one of the places I loved the most. In truth, I never really bought anything because I had no money. But looking at the sheets of leather, running my fingers over their textures, and imagining the beautiful things that could come out of them… it was always like taking a special kind of pill. It fed a hunger nothing else could touch.