Clandestine

forty

I sigh as another text message from Rosalina comes through my phone, at least three paragraphs long. Well, it would be three paragraphs if Rosalina knew a single thing about grammar. She loves to say how English is her nap hour in school.

I read the message and don't respond.

I told Carlotta and Rosalina that I won't be able to see them for a few days. I'm not sure how long my mother's rules will apply, but I'd rather break as few as I need to. After all, if she thinks that I'm not going to visit Carlotta and Rosalina, maybe she won't bother looking through other things that I've done. Maybe she won't see how I took money out of my back account to buy the disposable phone that now sits buried in the bottom of my dirty laundry basket. Maybe she won't notice that I didn't buy anything at my favorite boutique shop. Maybe she'll just focus on her own problems and forget about me.

But I know that it is wishful thinking.

My mother would never forget about me when I'm a threat.

Rosalina texts another long text about how unfair this is, as if I don't know. She complains about how she needs a bunch of help for her investor of the fashion show and we both know that Carlotta will be absolutely no help.

I write back that I'm sorry and I will tell her as soon as I get more information on my rules.

She asks me for the fifth time what I did to get my mother so mad at me.

I make up some silly excuse and power off my phone.

I can't tell her the truth. Too many other things are at risk to tell Rosalina, who may have one of the most famous gossip networks. While she wouldn't purposefully use it against me sometimes she does lack a little self control when it comes to social media.

A knock rings against my door, breaking me from my thoughts. I say, "Come in." Even though I don't really want anyone to come in.

My mother peeks her head through the door as if everything is light and fun between us. She flashes me a smile, "Can I come in?"

I nod, even though I want her to stay far, far away. But I can't refuse my mother.

She wrinkles her nose when she sees my mess of a room. I tore my possession apart looking for somewhere to hide my disposable phone where my mother would never find. I can only hope that my mom doesn't decide to spontaneously do my laundry. It's not as if she's ever helped me out before.

She says, "Do you ever clean your room?"

"Yes, I'm sorry. I can clean it."

"Good, because it's not like you have a lot of things that you can do right now anyway."

I don't respond, keeping the smile plastered to my face. Surely my mother feels all the tension loaded into this room. She's acting oblivious to make it increase.

She says, "I just wanted to tell you that you are going to come with me to work tomorrow. There's another meeting and I want you to attend it. I think it would be good for you to see how one of the meetings are actually supposed to go, rather than the mess that Alan Tinsley created."

I agree. But I don't want to go. I can't. I nearly fell apart at the last one. I don't like seeing my mother with the cold tone and no mercy. It just reminds me what will happen if I cross her.

My mother says, "How does that sound? Like fun?"

I say, "I have a lot of homework for school. I need to have my computer so that I can hand it into the virtual classroom and..."

My mother snaps, "I let you take your schooling on line so that you could have more freedom. That's the excuse you used to convince me, right?"

"That and the school systems are rather horrible. There's not a lot of funding..."

"There isn't a lot of funding because our funding is already stretched thin. We have given them the same amount of money for the last twenty years. Why should their needs increase?"

"Because they have gotten more students and technology?"

My mother glares at me, "I don't want to talk politics with you right now. I will go now. I expect you to be ready by ten tomorrow morning for the meeting. I guess you'll just have to stay up late tonight to finish your homework. I'm terribly sorry, but it sounds like your problem."

I nod, "Yes, mother. I'm sorry."

She stares at me for a second before her face softens, "I'm so glad that I can trust you with my secret, Julia. It's good to have such a strong family."

She leaves the room but her last words stick with me. She was afraid that I was angry with her. She wanted to make sure that I won't let her secret slip in rage.

She was afraid of me.