Explanatory story.

Last week we had to write a story in which a character has a thing that they are good at and we have to explain with out telling, how they became good at said thing. I got my story back today from my professor and he loved it. It was supposed to be around 250 words. I'm so happy that I have to post it. It's a pretty sad story, but I'm excited to explore this character further.
Here it is. There's no title. Forgive any offensive language. This is rated PG 13.


“Doesn’t your dad work there?”
“No.”
Thirty six thousand six hundred and eighty two. I keep track of my lies. Otherwise, I ‘d start believing them myself. The surest way to get caught in a lie is to start mixing your story with your reality. My father taught me that.
He called my mother “Stephanie” when they were fucking. Her name is Catherine.

“How do you feel about your father’s infidelity, Julie?”
“It’s a bit cliché.”

One. I would now argue that that’s true, but I didn’t know what cliché meant back then. I had heard my aunt say it to my mother in a bitter tone and I thought it sounded clever.

“Cliché? You may be the first eleven year old I’ve heard use that word.”
“I’m also the first eleven year old with a cheating father that is not going to have daddy issues.”

Two. I head heard my mother tell my aunt that was the one thing she wasn’t going to be able to handle: “Julie having daddy issues.” I wasn’t one hundred percent sure what that meant at eleven either, but I made a decision right then and there that if it were to happen, my mother would never be able to tell.

And she hasn’t. No one has. I am a straight A student, involved in student government, and the star of my JV volleyball team. I am the perfect sixteen year old daughter.
The only person that could know is my coach Mr. Aldridge. But he’s too busy molesting me in the locker room.

“How do you feel about being sexually involved with your volleyball coach, Julie?”
“It’s a bit cliché.”