cliche

Slamming the door, I walk outside to wait for my mother to drive me to school. "You're not going out like THAT, are you?" she lectures. I ignore her and get in the car. "I'm going to be late." I shout. "How many times do I have to tell you: While you live under my roof, you'll live by my rules, and there's no way your going to school with that piece of shrapnel in your lip!" she yells. I roll my eyes, "Whatever mom. I’m pretty sure I’m old enough to decide how I should dress," I say sarcastically. "You can't always tell me what to do! I’m 16, that makes me practically an adult. You need to stop treating me like a baby!" I bravely add.
Gritting her teeth she mutters, "I'll treat you like an adult when you start acting like an adult." We drive in silence for a while. "Well, don't think I’m letting you get out of this car until you take that atrocity out." she says calmly. "WHY!" I holler. "Because I’m your mother, and I said so." She states matter of factly. I’m really in the doghouse now.
"Well Amanda's parents let her do whatever she wants!" I attempt to argue.
"Oh, and if Amanda goes and jumps off a bridge, are you going to jump off too?"
As kids, we really have no comeback for that. Frustrated I turn and look out the window, giving my mother the cold shoulder. Looking at the hole that’s slowly getting bigger in the toe of my boot, I’m not sure if I should bring it up or not. It comes up like word vomit, “You said you’d take me to buy new shoes today…” I mutter.
“What, do you think I'm made of money?” She answers, “Back in