idiot?”
“Can we just drop it? I have homework to finish.” I didn’t want to cry. I knew if I escaped to my room right that second, I could avoid it, but if Mom kept pressing, I might burst like a water balloon. The only thing I hated more than crying was having people see me cry.
But my mother, bulldog that she was, would not bedeterred. “No, we can’t ‘just drop it.’ When have you ever known me to ‘just drop it’? You’re my child , and when I tell you to do something—or not to do something—I expect you to listen.”
“Okay, Mom, I get it, I’m a terrible daughter. Can I go now?” A part of me knew that the reason most of my schoolmates were such entitled twits was that their parents didn’t expect anything out of them or discipline them when they misbehaved, and I knew I was likely not to turn out like that because my parents were old school and demanded obedience and I probably should be grateful they weren’t disinterested zombies who spoiled me so I would go away, but at that moment I wished my mother would disappear in a puff of smoke.
“Go where?” Mom demanded, not getting the hint. Hannah looked uncomfortable, her eyes darting from Mom to me and back to Mom, her shoulders tense and the corners of her mouth pointing straight down like little arrows. I thought she might intervene, and maybe she was thinking about it, but she kept quiet in the end—which was fine. Mom and I had these little squabbles all the time; we didn’t need her help progressing through the stages. Stage 1: Confrontation. Stage 2: Teenage back talk. Stage 3: Real talk. Stage 4: Forgetting all about it.
“To my room. To do my homework. So that I don’t start the year off with a zero. Is that okay with you?” Teenage back talk: check. Stage 2 was a go.
“I don’t think you’re hearing what I’m saying,” Mom said.
“I hear you! I didn’t ask permission to go to Derek’s, or to use the car. I’m sorry. Believe me, it did not turn out as I planned.” The levees broke and tears poured down my cheeks.
“What happened?” Hannah asked, getting up and putting her arm around me.
I knew she was just trying to help, but I didn’t want her comfort, or anyone else’s, for that matter. Hugs couldn’t cure humiliation. I stepped out of her embrace and wiped furiously at my eyes. “He broke up with me,” I told them.
“Oh, Caro,” Mom said. Her forehead wrinkled in sympathy. “I told you that you were too young to have a boyfriend.”
“Mom! Is that really all you have to say?” That was just typical. Mom thought high school boys were a distraction, and she would’ve been happier if I didn’t date until I had my master’s degree. To her credit, she hadn’t tried to keep me from going out with Derek, but she did love to make it difficult.
Hannah stood by, rigid after I shook her off, but her eyes were soft with sadness on my behalf. Anger swirled around me like a mist—anger at Hannah, at my parents, at Derek, but most of all at myself for winding up in this situation when I had known better. I felt like the world’s biggest loser.
“Okay, calm down,” Mom said, lowering her voice. “It’s going to be all right. There are plenty of boys out there, boys who will really like and appreciate you. Derek is a doofus—Dad and I have always thought so.”
“Really. A doofus.” I couldn’t believe she thought that was going to make me feel better, but sympathy for sympathy’s sake wasn’t Mom’s style. Real talk: check.
“Did you love him?” Hannah asked.
“What? No!” Ugh. They weren’t getting it. “He wasn’t returning my calls or my texts, and Erin said that he was probably going to break up with me and to do it first before he got the chance, so I went over there to dump him and before I could get a word out, he dumped me . And now I have to go to school tomorrow and everybody’s going to know about it and I’m going to be totally humiliated. That’s why I’m
“Can we just drop it? I have homework to finish.” I didn’t want to cry. I knew if I escaped to my room right that second, I could avoid it, but if Mom kept pressing, I might burst like a water balloon. The only thing I hated more than crying was having people see me cry.
But my mother, bulldog that she was, would not bedeterred. “No, we can’t ‘just drop it.’ When have you ever known me to ‘just drop it’? You’re my child , and when I tell you to do something—or not to do something—I expect you to listen.”
“Okay, Mom, I get it, I’m a terrible daughter. Can I go now?” A part of me knew that the reason most of my schoolmates were such entitled twits was that their parents didn’t expect anything out of them or discipline them when they misbehaved, and I knew I was likely not to turn out like that because my parents were old school and demanded obedience and I probably should be grateful they weren’t disinterested zombies who spoiled me so I would go away, but at that moment I wished my mother would disappear in a puff of smoke.
“Go where?” Mom demanded, not getting the hint. Hannah looked uncomfortable, her eyes darting from Mom to me and back to Mom, her shoulders tense and the corners of her mouth pointing straight down like little arrows. I thought she might intervene, and maybe she was thinking about it, but she kept quiet in the end—which was fine. Mom and I had these little squabbles all the time; we didn’t need her help progressing through the stages. Stage 1: Confrontation. Stage 2: Teenage back talk. Stage 3: Real talk. Stage 4: Forgetting all about it.
“To my room. To do my homework. So that I don’t start the year off with a zero. Is that okay with you?” Teenage back talk: check. Stage 2 was a go.
“I don’t think you’re hearing what I’m saying,” Mom said.
“I hear you! I didn’t ask permission to go to Derek’s, or to use the car. I’m sorry. Believe me, it did not turn out as I planned.” The levees broke and tears poured down my cheeks.
“What happened?” Hannah asked, getting up and putting her arm around me.
I knew she was just trying to help, but I didn’t want her comfort, or anyone else’s, for that matter. Hugs couldn’t cure humiliation. I stepped out of her embrace and wiped furiously at my eyes. “He broke up with me,” I told them.
“Oh, Caro,” Mom said. Her forehead wrinkled in sympathy. “I told you that you were too young to have a boyfriend.”
“Mom! Is that really all you have to say?” That was just typical. Mom thought high school boys were a distraction, and she would’ve been happier if I didn’t date until I had my master’s degree. To her credit, she hadn’t tried to keep me from going out with Derek, but she did love to make it difficult.
Hannah stood by, rigid after I shook her off, but her eyes were soft with sadness on my behalf. Anger swirled around me like a mist—anger at Hannah, at my parents, at Derek, but most of all at myself for winding up in this situation when I had known better. I felt like the world’s biggest loser.
“Okay, calm down,” Mom said, lowering her voice. “It’s going to be all right. There are plenty of boys out there, boys who will really like and appreciate you. Derek is a doofus—Dad and I have always thought so.”
“Really. A doofus.” I couldn’t believe she thought that was going to make me feel better, but sympathy for sympathy’s sake wasn’t Mom’s style. Real talk: check.
“Did you love him?” Hannah asked.
“What? No!” Ugh. They weren’t getting it. “He wasn’t returning my calls or my texts, and Erin said that he was probably going to break up with me and to do it first before he got the chance, so I went over there to dump him and before I could get a word out, he dumped me . And now I have to go to school tomorrow and everybody’s going to know about it and I’m going to be totally humiliated. That’s why I’m
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