Shit, it’s real...It’s real...What the hell?

“Why are you standing there with your hand over your heart like that, Mia?” My mother walks into the foyer. “Have I unknowingly installed an American flag in the hallway? Are you pledging allegiance?”

My heart rate instantly returns to its normal pace, to the beat of “Fuck my life.”

“Is that Dean Collins?” she asks, peering through the window. “Did Dean Collins just drop you off at home?”

“Yes, he did.”

A smile crosses her lips and she pulls me into a hug. “Good. You’re finally learning how to be social and you’re dating.”

“We’re not dating. I’m his tutor.”

“What could he possibly use tutoring in?” She looks confused. “What teacher at Central would be dumb enough not to pass him? Especially with a third state championship on the line?”

I bite my tongue before I can say something smart, something really smart.

Fortunately, she doesn’t notice the look on my face. Instead, she pulls me into a hug that makes me feel hundreds of degrees colder. “Have you heard back from Harvard yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“You did apply, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” My eyes veer toward her framed degree that hangs on the wall. (She has like twenty copies of it hanging all over our house.)

“Well, if you haven’t heard anything back in four more weeks, let me know and I’ll make the call.” She lets me go. “What about the bonfire and homecoming? Also, prom? I know you’re planning on going to all of those events this year. At least, you better be.”

“I’m still thinking about it.”

“Let me know when you look for a dress for homecoming. We’ll make it an event—a mother daughter type of thing. It’ll be good for your development.” She smiles as she walks away from me and into the living room. Just like that, I know our numerous arguments for the past month are now forgotten.

Especially since this is the first time she’s spoken to me in a while.

All of our arguments end the same way, with her holding a grudge until I do something that makes her smile. While most moms get upset over bad grades, drug experimentation, or serious shit that actually affects a life, my mom gets upset over my inability to like the things that really matter in life. Things like wanting to be homecoming queen, having a great high school social status, and dating.

Two hundred and fifty-five days...

Before she can ask me to do anything, I run up the stairs to my room and shut the door. I plop onto my bed and groan as I take in the pale and bleak ugliness that surrounds me.

If anyone else saw my room right now, they’d think I was trying to imitate a cell in a psych ward. My walls are covered in a near-colorless eggshell color, my bed spread is taupe, and all of the furniture is the color of coffee cream.

If that’s not horrible enough, the only pictures that hang on the wall are those of gray and brown rocks. Oh, and sand. Lots and lots of sand.

I’ve been begging my mom to let me paint and redesign this ugliness since I was seven years old, but “neutral colors are a necessary stimulus for the female brain” according to her ridiculous psychology studies. And besides, to her, my art is a hobby that’s distracting me from the things that are truly important in life. Popularity.

I pull the covers over my head and feel my phone buzzing. A text from Dean.

DEAN: Hey. Is red your favorite color?

MIA: Hey. Just because we had a good day today, does not mean you’re allowed to text me outside of tutoring. Goodnight.

DEAN: LOL. Answer the question, Mia. Is it red?

MIA: No, red is not my favorite color. Stop texting me.

DEAN: Is it blue?

MIA: Yes, it’s blue. Goodnight.

DEAN: Interesting. I only thought it was red because you always wear red bras, and you clearly have quite the collection...The one with the polka dots, the one with the lace, the one with the flowers, and today’s silk one. The best one yet, in my opinion. Goodnight :-)

I turn my phone off, my cheeks on fire.

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