Out of the Box by Michelle Mulder

don’t have to make any decisions right now, but I’d like you to think about it. Don’t worry about offending me, no matter what you decide. I promise to back you up, no matter what.”
    I could quit violin lessons, self-defense class and French lessons and just read, hang out with Sarah and practice bandoneón . I might get to go to some tango concerts. If I hang out with Sarah at school, maybe I’ll learn to make friends as quickly as she does.
    â€œThink about it,” Jeanette says. “I don’t mind talking to your Mom if you want me to.”
    My images of life in Victoria burst like soap bubbles. “What would you tell her?”
    â€œHow much you’re blossoming here, how you have access to a world-class bandoneón teacher and how much he thinks of your playing.”
    I wince. “My parents don’t know about the bandoneón. I never told them.”
    â€œNo problem. I did.”
    â€œOh.” Now Mom has undeniable proof that I’ve been keeping things from her. That’ll be enough to send her imagination searching for a million other secrets I must be hiding. If Jeanette asks her to let me stay here for the year, she’ll be convinced I’ve become an Uncontrollable Teenager for sure.

T WENTY
    I need a good twenty-four hours to figure out what to say to my parents. Not about moving here—I haven’t made that decision yet—but about the bandoneón.
    Withholding information is a big deal in my family. Like I said, my parents believe in discussing everything with me, from their first sexual experiences (“knowledge that might help you make your own decisions”) to what they’re presently arguing about (“as a member of the family, you deserve to know”). They’ve always assumed I would be open with them too, and I have been, until now.
    â€œI was wondering when you’d get around to telling us,” Mom says when I bring up the bandoneón. “Why did you keep it a secret?”
    I can think of no safe way to answer this, so I choose the least painful version of the truth. “I wanted it to be a surprise. You know, I show up at the end of the summer able to play a whole new instrument?”
    Mom says nothing at first. “Why wouldn’t you want to share your excitement with us, though, as you experience it?”
    â€œI didn’t know you’d find it so exciting,” I say. “I know Dad, for one, hates anything that sounds like an accordion.”
    Another long silence. Dangerously long. I brace myself.
    â€œI wish you’d tell me what’s going on,” she whispers. “You keep saying everything’s fine, but if it were really fine, you’d tell me things. Why don’t you tell me things anymore?”
    I don’t know how to respond to that, and I guess my silence lasts a moment too long, because I hear her take a deep breath, and I know any hope of rational conversation is gone.
    â€œI can’t stand this anymore,” she cries. “We need to talk. I’ll get on a ferry first thing tomorrow morning. I can be there by nine.”
    â€œNo,” I say too quickly, then scramble to save myself. “I mean, I’d be happy to talk to you, but no, we don’t need to talk. Everything’s fine. I love you, Mom.” She’s crying quietly enough for me to add that I didn’t mean to hurt her, and I’d love to see her, but I also understand that work is very busy and I wouldn’t want her to fall behind to come over here when everything’s—
    â€œEverything’s not fine between us!” she wails. “I can hear it in your voice.”
    I cast a pleading look at Jeanette, who’s suddenly standing next to me. She holds out her hand for the phone, but I know I have to say something to calm Mom down before I hand her over. “I’m sorry, Mom. I don’t know what to say.”
    â€œJust let me