Really Old Yeller

Greetings.

Why is it that whenever Ally's email is over quota, I have a crisis that I need to talk to her about? (Neither of us are phone people.) Dad yelled at me again about me getting a job. Now, I had had a TERRIBLE, AWFUL, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY. And him yelling at me just sent me over the edge. I almost, ALMOST, hit him or threw what I was holding (my heavy history and Spanish books, keys, sunglasses, Joseph's gift card to Game Stop) at him, but I didn't. I threw them into the dining room; I knocked over two chairs, 'cause I threw my backpack too. Then I shouted, "I'm going to my room!" and stalked there. I'm proud of myself. I didn't slam the door. Immediately I called Bev and asked if I could stay with Nana and Gramps.
So that's where I am now.
Nana, Gramps, and I went to dinner and they told me all sorts of stories about Bev and Uncle Sam. Bev was married to this guy before she met dad; his name was Raphael. Let's just say they didn't part on amicable terms. Anyways, she went to live in Uncle Sam's apartment building, which was, like, 100 years old and had three million cockroaches in it. Nana said that when you opened the cupboard, they fell onto your head. Bev confirmed it. I thought that Nana was exaggerating... Anyways, Nana was dying laughing when she remembered that, when that big earthquake hit Chico, where Bev and Uncle Sam had lived for a while, all the new buildings fell down around that old one. Gramps said (this was what made Nana laugh) that all the cockroaches had linked their arms together and made the building stand. He reasoned that there were enough of them to do it. Nana just laughed.
I like staying at Gramps and Nana's house. I'm really tired of Dad yelling. Bev yells too, but not as often. This is the third month in a row that I have sought shelter at Nana and Gramps's house. Maybe I should just stay here. Bev and Dad have Bentley.
I called Joseph on the way to their house. I cried most of the time. He was really quiet. When I told him that I wanted to move to Gramps and Nana's house, he said, "HM, please don't move." I think that's the closest he's ever come to saying that he really cares about me a whole lot. The second place one was during freshman year. Bev got offered this big promotion in another city and we almost had to move. When I told my friends we might be moving (this was before Joss, mind you), Bennie almost started to cry and Freddy and Joseph got really quiet. Freddy said, "Please, HM, don't go."
Joseph said, "Yeah, HM. We'd miss you."
I feel better. I still haven't talked to my dad. Nor do I care to right now. He doesn't seem to be able to get this through his head: THERE. ARE. NO. JOBS. But leave it to Dad to be ignorant of this one key point.
I'm tired of being second best. I can't get anything I'm qualified for. I never get the leads in my plays (except one, but after eight years, pfft, might as well be forever), I can't get a solo while the choir's rich snobby president, Mary June Laramie, (I know it doesn't sound snobby, but she is) gets two that I wanted and probably more since our choir teacher, Mr. Privett, hasn't announced all of the solos yet, and I get straight A's yet I still get yelled at. Bentley messes up more than I do; he doesn't do his homework, he slacks off, and he's rude to me. Yet he has not been yelled at in weeks and he has NEVER been yelled at bad enough to call Nana and Gramps. I'm seriously sick and tired of coming in second, of not being good enough. And you know what the cruel part is?
I can't do a thing to change it. Mr. Privett chooses the solos, there's always someone less talented yet yet prettier than me for the leads, and Dad will always yell at me because Bentley has taken over my role as "the good one". I can't find a job. I'm only sixteen! I get straight A's, I care for my friends, I do my homework, I cook, I take care of Bentley, I drive him EVERYWHERE, and what do I get? A FREAKING "YOU NEED A JOB, HARMONY MARGARET WALKER!"
Here's a thought, Dad: If I'm working my butt off at a job, who's going to do the driving, cooking, and slaving that I so conveniently do?
Eat that, Dad.

Hugz (and a chokehold for Dad)
HM