Page 12 of On the Bright Side
Two hours later, I hadn’t even realized they were home yet when Mom appears in my bedroom doorway, already irritated with me somehow. When she says something that I don’t hear, she points to her ears, so I reluctantly reach for my devices and put them back on.
“Isaid,” Mom continues, “that food is ready.”
I look back down at my phone. “You could’ve just texted me.”
“Or you should keep your hearing aid and cochlear on,” she counters.
“But my head hurt.”
Ignoring this, she walks back down the stairs, shouting over her shoulder. “Come on. It’s getting cold.”
Tired of waiting at the table, Dad decided we’re eating dinner in front of the TV. He’s on the couch watching some nineties movie, but there’s no captions on. I sit on the other end, bowl carefully balanced in one hand while I wordlessly reach for the remote to rectify that. Dad mumbles something about “turning off when you’re done.”
We eat the room-temperature pasta without saying much. After a while, Mom tries to start up a conversation, but I’m too exhausted from a long day of listening fatigue to be in a chatty mood.
“What?” I ask a little sharply.
She’s immediately defensive. “You should hear me now. Isaidhow was school?”
“I hate it.” I keep my voice level while sharing this truth. Matter of fact. Straight to the point. “I want to drop out, honestly.”
“You arenotallowed to drop out.” Mom makes sure she gets her point across.
Dad is usually calmer but still strict, trying to level out my mom’s reactions. Except no matter how they present their opinions, they’re always in agreement. One unit, resistant to change, unwilling to accommodate or comply with anything that would make my life easier. He says, “I know it’s not what you wanted. But you can’t just quit.”
They should give me some valid reasons, then. “Why not?” I play coy.
“Because we’re not going to let you,” my mom says, standing to clear her plate, and when she returns, she doesn’t resume sitting in the side chair, as if this will physically give her the upper hand in this conversation.
“You didn’t have to send me to Madison’s school.” I get up, too. “You could’ve homeschooled me for the year, or found somewhere else, or, I don’t know, anything other than making me the freak who has to start senior year at a new school!”
“Homeschool you?” Mom laughs like I’ve just told the world’s funniest joke. Her voice goes level and quiet so that I only catch “you really think” and “time to teach you on top of.”
“So, you don’t really want me home, then,” I counter, understanding the poor logic of this argument, but I’m backed into a corner.
“Not while we have to be at work, no.”
Dad grabs the remote to pause the TV. Seems like we’re being too loud for him.
“You’d rather I was still gone.” I cross my arms. “Me too.”
“Yes, this is a big inconvenience to everyone. The universe really conspired to do you wrong here.” Mom’s tone is part mocking, part sympathetic. But my read of it is cruel. “We didn’t shut down Brandview. You still have to go to school.”
“I’m eighteen, so.” I let that linger.
Dad tries to salvage the moment. “Now, Ellie-door, if—”
I cut him off. “I really don’t.”
Mom shakes her head. “And then what will you do? You have to go to school if you’re going to live here.”
“Maybe I’ll find somewhere else.” Except, these days, I have nowhere to go.
I can’t crash with Madison, not that she’d welcome a disruption at college anyway. None of my friends are living in the Brandview area now, and I couldn’t afford an apartment by myself. I would have run off to Cody in a heartbeat, but he’s moved on so fast that I’m still reeling from having to reevaluate everything I ever thought about our relationship.
“You just don’t get it!” I shout at my parents. “You never have.” My voice falters, but I don’t dare let it break into too much emotion. “You never tried.”
“What can we do to make things at school easier for you?” Dad asks.
