Warning: Objects in Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear

Speaking in French

I think it's around five when I finally stumble through the kitchen door of my house.

         I look up at its red familiarity, shrugging off my jacket and getting water all over the floor. I hang it up on the rack, then look at it. It's all muddy, grass plastered to parts of it. I slowly raise my hand up to my hair, scared of the answer, and feel all the mud caked in it, all the grass and dirt amid all the wetness. Great. I sure look swell. I sigh and turn away, figuring the best thing to do right now is to get a shower before Mom gets home.

         I go into the kitchen, look up, and stop short.

         Crap.

        Mom looks like she was going to say something to instill fear into my soul like parents usually do when something's amiss, but she's speechless at the sight of my mud-caked, make up-running, dirt, rained on, late self.

         "Please tell me something that will rationalize this," Mom says. "I don't care what it is. If it's the truth, a lie--I don't care. I just don't understand."

         "I was trekking through the woods looking for unicorns and a white stag," I tell her, moving past her to go upstairs. "They said to tell you hello."

         "I said to rationalize it," Mom says, moving in front of me to block my way. "Not to make it crazier than it was before."

         I can do nothing, so I look away, at the granite island, where I served sweet tea for an invasion earlier. It reflects us; me, looking like I've survived a hurricane, and Mom's gentle form and short, dark hair.

         Mom sighs through her nose and drops something onto the counter--the cherry Coke top.

         I whip my head up, a surprised breath escaping my mouth. "How did you--?"

         "I found it on the island when I came home and you weren't here," Mom says, her eyes flicking from me to the top. "You used to disappear like this all the time with Cameron and go down to Andy's, so I thought this was a hint to tell me that you two were making amends or at least talking or something. But you were gone so long, Alice, and--I mean"--she gulps--"and now you come home looking like this?"

         "I missed the bus," I tell her. "Cameron gave me a lift home, and we stopped by Andy's and got Cokes, then went over to his house and talked stuff over. But it was raining on the way home and I slipped in the mud and fell."

         "This does not look like 'slipped in the mud' damage," Mom says, sizing me up.

        I just look at her. "You said to tell you something that would rationalize it."

        Her gaze hardens as she presses her lips together. "Alice."

        "Mom."

         She just looks at me. My parents are strict in a way that would keep a younger me from escaping and venturing into the Rhodes mansion. I grew up amidst love of me and hatred of the house for wanting to take me away, and sometimes that blurred together. Many years of arguing and fear or love of the house has messed up my mom's and my relationship. Now, as a teenager, I couldn't possibly lie to her. It would only make things worse. But now that I am in a world where the house has taken me, and I realize now that this is going to make everything much harder than it was before.

         "Jacqueline called me earlier," Mom says, moving forward to another accusation. "She said that Fran came home crying." I close my eyes; I had, too. Mom continues, "What's been happening, Alice? You've been weird and distant for a couple of weeks now."