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Mom didn’t knock as she made her way into my bedroom. Granted, my door had been open, but she still could’ve announced her presence before barging on in.
I sat at my desk, math book spread wide before me, and hurried to pull on a neutral expression. “Okay.”
She handed it to me without a word, and I quickly scanned the spread. Babysitting the twins tomorrow. Math tutoring on Wednesday. Senior center on Thursday. Fundraiser on Saturday.
Babysitting the twins would be impossible to get out of. Tutoring wouldn’t work since Mom was friends with the science teacher. Senior centercouldbe easy enough to skip, but that would be the third week in a row. Sooner or later, they’d ask my mom what was going on.
Which meant I was looking at an entire week without time for Harry.
“How are your grades?” she asked, startling me. I thought she’d just drop the paper off and leave.
“Fine.” It took effort to keep my voice from sounding short. “Haven’t gotten a paper below an A minus in months.”
“Nellie has been asking when you’re going to take her shopping again. It’s been a while.”
I fought a groan. Shopping trips with Nellie weren’t my favorite thing in the world. Not because she liked to try on everything in the store—which she did, even the headbands—but because I’d always have to tell her no to the clothes she picked out. Mom’s directive for when we went was always clear.“Make sure she gets things that are sophisticated. I don’t want to make a second trip for returns.”
Not that she made the first trip to begin with. “Youcould always take her.”
I didn’t look up, but Mom’s voice took on a stern tone. “I’m not her big sister.”
“Yeah, well, then why isn’t it on the calendar?”
Mom didn’t speak long enough that I looked up at her, a serious expression coating her features. “You have an attitude tonight,” she murmured, an unspoken warning seeping into her voice. “Would you care to tell me why?”
Immediately, I went on the defense, her lawyer side obviously coming out to play in a way that terrified me. I hadn’t realized my tone had gotten so frigid, inwardly cursing myself. With my parents, I always was on my best behavior. Always. I could think of all kinds of retorts that I wanted to say, but would never express them aloud.
Trying to defuse the situation, I hunched my shoulders forward, placing my hands in my lap. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to talk back. I have a lot on my mind tonight.”
“Like what?”
The way she asked left no room for brushing it off. “Just…stressing about the scholarships, college acceptances, volunteering…” I trailed off, looking at everything written on the weekly spread. Strangely enough, my heart started thudding faster in my chest. “When do you think we’ll hear from the colleges?”
“It really depends. Could be a few more weeks.”
My mind traveled to the college online, but only briefly. I only opened the proverbial box for a few moments. I never sent in an application for it, and it pinched my chest. Harry would say I’m giving up on my dream. Would he really be wrong?
I thought of the shoebox under my bed, all the brochures that were collecting dust. At this point, I should’ve thrown them out.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when Mom laid her hand on my shoulder, her comforting gesture startling me. “It’ll be okay,” she told me confidently. “Mr. Orchard is on the admissions board of Castleton, and Mr. Bradshaw knows people at Mullhound. They’ll have your back.”
If only I had connections at Ashton.
“It will be fine,” Mom said again, taking away her hand. “Great things are in store for you, Destelle. I know it.”
I pinched my fingers in my lap, focusing on the pain to keep me from speaking.Great things, she said. Great things, according to her. If I were Stella in this moment, I would’ve brought up Ashton. Heck, I would’ve applied without talking to my parents about it. Screw the consequences. But I wasn’t Stella, and I kept my mouth shut as Mom made her way from my room, her parting words settling over in my mind.I know it.
They were meant to be comforting, but they felt like a vise.
I pulled my cell phone out from underneath my textbook, finding the contact and pressing the call button.
“Well, look at that,” the voice greeted after two rings. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Is this the part where I start stumbling like a dweeb?” I asked, thinking about one of our previous conversations.
“Hey,” Harry said. “I’m not a dweeb. A dork, maybe, but never a dweeb.”
I would’ve smiled if the weekly spread hadn’t still been open in front of me, Mom’s perfect handwriting glaring me in the face. “Whatcha up to?”
