I couldn't believe it. We were moving in with James, but he already has a family!
You think having a baby at fifteen would make my mum mature just a tad, but no. Fifteen years on, my mum still doesn't consider the consequences of her actions, or take into account the feelings of those around her.
I rolled my head to look at the picture on my bedside drawer. It was my mum and I a year ago, just after she met James. She was thrilled, and I was happy for her, I guess.
Anyone looking at the picture would think she's my sister.
I've never even met my grandparents. Apparently, they were so ashamed that their daughter was pregnant at fifteen, they practically disowned her. They kicked her out.
So, my dad, who was eighteen at the time took her in to his crappy little apartment.
But then, just on my mums eighteenth birthday, waiting for my dad to come home from work, mum got a visit from the Gardaí.
He was walking home through a dodgy street, and was stabbed. He died on the scene, bleeding out from the six stab wounds.
Mum became a waitress, sold my dads apartment and moved herself and me into the cheapest apartment she could find.
I pulled out the picture of my dad out from under my pillow. He had spiked blonde hair and blue eyes... The same as me. I didn't look like my mum at all, with her brunette hair and green eyes.
"I wish you were here" I tearfully whispered. It was always just mum and me. I didn't want to move... At home, there was no people my age.. No chance of torment... But three people? Three? No matter what age they even were, this was going to be a nightmare.
And, I never did tell my mum about my suspension. In fairness, I never told my mum anything about school. Especially about the whole "accident" thing. Ignorance is bliss... Right?