went along with the cheerleading, haven’t said a word about your new hair color, and the other day I actually left the store early so I could drive you to the mall. And even though I may disapprove of some of your more recent choices, I haven’t tried to stop you because I know they’re important to you. But this, running off to New York without so much as a note.” She shakes her head. “Well, you have no idea how worried I was. So for the next two weeks, I want you coming straight home from school, no detours, no side trips, and no TV. You missed a lot of schoolwork and I want you fully caught up. I also want to know that I can trust you again.”
She raises her eyebrows and lowers her chin, as I exhale slowly and nod. I mean, what else can I do? I’m getting off easy. And trying to barter her down will only backfire.
By dinnertime, all anyone can talk about is Rey. Seriously, all through the salad and well into the main course, it’s like “Rey this,” and “Rey that.” And, “Oh, my God, remember that time when Rey said such and such?”
So finally, I bite. “Okay, who the heck is Rey?” I ask, twirling my pasta onto my spoon and glancing from my mom to Autumn.
”This young boy I hired last week,” my mom says, taking a small sip of her sparkling water with lime.
And since my mom’s definition of “young boy” pretty much covers anyone between the ages of three and thirty, I say, “Details, please.” Then I take a bite of pasta so big I need a pair of scissors to cut it, just like on that old episode of “I Love Lucy.”
“He’s sixteen, just moved to Laguna, and he’s taking over your shift at the café,” she informs me.
“My shift?” I stare at her. “But why? I was gone less than a week, and you already replaced me?” I mean, jeez, just because I sometimes complain about having to work there doesn’t mean I actually wanted to stop. Especially now that my life’s so lonely and pathetic I have no other way of filling up all my spare time.
But my mom just looks at me carefully, obviously confused by my reaction. Then she says in a soft, patient voice, “Well, honey, when you ran off like that, I thought all the pressure was getting to be too much for you, and that maybe you’d enjoy having your weekends off, you know, to spend more time with your friends. So I hired Rey to pick up the slack.”
I just glare at her. I mean,
hello?
Now that Sloane has gone to the other side I’m pretty much all out of friends. And even though I realize how my mom can’t possibly know any of that (since I haven’t exactly divulged any of it), I can’t help being upset. I mean, I feel like she should just
know.
“I’m sorry, I thought you’d be happy,” she says, giving me a worried look. “Because now you can spend all of your Friday and Saturday nights with Sloane.”
And just like
that
I feel like I never even left. Like I’m picking up exactly where I left off, and that nothing has changed, least of all me. “Yeah, well that’s just great, Mom,” I say, shaking my head, dangerously close to tears. “Except for the fact that Sloane and I aren’t exactly friends anymore, and somehow I just completely forgot to cast an understudy.”
I push away from the table and my still half full plate offood, and make a run for my room, where I close the door, grab the laptop I share with Autumn, and pull my cool new privacy curtain until it’s secured all around me. And then, just to torture myself even more, I check my e-mail, which just makes me feel worse when I realize that my twelve new messages are what most people call spam. And since I’m not currently interested in stock market investing, penile enhancement, or Viagra, I delete every last one, until my screen is finally clear and my in-box shows 0.
Then I sit there, just staring at that sad empty number, thinking how nice it would be to have a constantly ringing phone and a
legitimately
full in-box, yet painfully aware of how
She raises her eyebrows and lowers her chin, as I exhale slowly and nod. I mean, what else can I do? I’m getting off easy. And trying to barter her down will only backfire.
By dinnertime, all anyone can talk about is Rey. Seriously, all through the salad and well into the main course, it’s like “Rey this,” and “Rey that.” And, “Oh, my God, remember that time when Rey said such and such?”
So finally, I bite. “Okay, who the heck is Rey?” I ask, twirling my pasta onto my spoon and glancing from my mom to Autumn.
”This young boy I hired last week,” my mom says, taking a small sip of her sparkling water with lime.
And since my mom’s definition of “young boy” pretty much covers anyone between the ages of three and thirty, I say, “Details, please.” Then I take a bite of pasta so big I need a pair of scissors to cut it, just like on that old episode of “I Love Lucy.”
“He’s sixteen, just moved to Laguna, and he’s taking over your shift at the café,” she informs me.
“My shift?” I stare at her. “But why? I was gone less than a week, and you already replaced me?” I mean, jeez, just because I sometimes complain about having to work there doesn’t mean I actually wanted to stop. Especially now that my life’s so lonely and pathetic I have no other way of filling up all my spare time.
But my mom just looks at me carefully, obviously confused by my reaction. Then she says in a soft, patient voice, “Well, honey, when you ran off like that, I thought all the pressure was getting to be too much for you, and that maybe you’d enjoy having your weekends off, you know, to spend more time with your friends. So I hired Rey to pick up the slack.”
I just glare at her. I mean,
hello?
Now that Sloane has gone to the other side I’m pretty much all out of friends. And even though I realize how my mom can’t possibly know any of that (since I haven’t exactly divulged any of it), I can’t help being upset. I mean, I feel like she should just
know.
“I’m sorry, I thought you’d be happy,” she says, giving me a worried look. “Because now you can spend all of your Friday and Saturday nights with Sloane.”
And just like
that
I feel like I never even left. Like I’m picking up exactly where I left off, and that nothing has changed, least of all me. “Yeah, well that’s just great, Mom,” I say, shaking my head, dangerously close to tears. “Except for the fact that Sloane and I aren’t exactly friends anymore, and somehow I just completely forgot to cast an understudy.”
I push away from the table and my still half full plate offood, and make a run for my room, where I close the door, grab the laptop I share with Autumn, and pull my cool new privacy curtain until it’s secured all around me. And then, just to torture myself even more, I check my e-mail, which just makes me feel worse when I realize that my twelve new messages are what most people call spam. And since I’m not currently interested in stock market investing, penile enhancement, or Viagra, I delete every last one, until my screen is finally clear and my in-box shows 0.
Then I sit there, just staring at that sad empty number, thinking how nice it would be to have a constantly ringing phone and a
legitimately
full in-box, yet painfully aware of how
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