Dumping my bag in the half-painted kitchen, I pulled out my cell phone. Elaina had been really cold
to me at lunch, and we didn’t have any classes together; maybe I should text her to see if she
wanted to come over. I stared at the phone for a moment, considering, but then I shook my head.
She’s probably just having a bad first day. Trying not to think about her, I rummaged through the
fridge, hoping I could find something with either copious amounts of chocolate or salt, but all I came
up with was an apple. I sat down at the kitchen table and sighed before biting into the red skin.
“Mya, is that you?” Mom called from upstairs, and I swallowed the bite of apple.
“Yeah.” I sort of hoped she wouldn’t come down. I didn’t really want to re-hash the awful day, but I
heard her soft steps on the stairs.
She came around the corner and looked at me expectantly. “Well, how was it?”
I sighed. “Okay, I guess. Elaina and I had a fight.”
“About?”
I took another bite of my apple. “I’m not sure,” I lied. I didn’t want to tell Mom that we’d fought
about my looks. It seemed like a ridiculous reason to argue, and I hoped Elaina would get over
whatever was bothering her by tomorrow.
Mom squinted at me. “What did you do to your face?”
I stopped chewing. “What do you mean?” I reached for my cell phone to check my reflection in the
screen, but Mom’s next words stopped me.
“You look different. Fake, somehow. Are you wearing new makeup?”
I shook my head. “You know I hate wearing makeup.”
Mom cocked her head to one side. “Still, something’s different about you.”
I slumped into my seat. Desperate to change the subject, I gestured at the kitchen. “Are we out of
paint?” She nodded, but her eyes studied my face for a moment before shifting to look at the half-finished
walls. “Yes. I was
going to run out and get some more, but—“ She cleared her throat. “I guess I got distracted
upstairs.”
“I can get it.”
“Don’t you have homework?”
I shrugged. “It’s not a far walk.”
Mom hesitated, glancing at the door, but then she nodded. “Okay.” She leaned forward and kissed
my forehead. “Thank you.”
I hopped up and tossed my apple core in the compost bin on the counter. “Another gallon?”
She nodded, and then she pulled me into a tight hug.
Confused, I looked up at her. “You okay?”
“Yes.” Mom pulled away and pursed her lips. “Are you sure you don’t want to wash off whatever’s
on your face first?”
I sighed, exasperated. “I told you, Mom, it’s just me.”
She laughed, but it sounded forced. “No one looks that good when they’re sixteen, sweetie.”
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