Better Off

4

"Hey, sweetie," Mom says when I walk through the front door. I'm kind of surprised to see her sitting on the couch in the living room, giving me a bright smile. She's normally not home until around five-ish, so I didn't expect to see her so soon.

"Hey, Mom." I don't know why I feel cautious in this moment. Maybe it's the way Mom's looking at me, with an over-eager smile and her hazel eyes wide. I know that look. It's her we're-about-to-have-a-conversation-you-don't-want-to-have look. I can already feel the dread coursing through my veins, my heart dropping to my stomach.

"Do you have a minute?" Mom pauses the TV, turning her motherly you-better-do-what-I-say-now glare on me.

"I guess," I mutter, dropping my bookbag to the ground. I make my way to the living room slowly, unable to stop myself from wondering what's about to happen. There's no way I'm in trouble. I can't remember the last time I was in trouble. Plus, my parent's have always been super uptight. If I did something to upset them, I would have known by now.

"Come sit," Mom says, patting the spot on the couch next to her. I wordlessly take a seat, pressing my hands together. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous right now.

"So," Mom says, which is how she always starts her lectures. "Your dad and I have been a little worried lately."

I raise my eyebrows, as this is news to me. "You have? Why?"

"It's just . . ." Mom trails off, picking at the loose stitching on one of the throw pillows. Sitting this close to her, I can see a few gray streaks in her dark brown hair. There are little crows feet on the corners of her hazel eyes, small wrinkles around her lips. For as long as I can remember, anybody that knows my mother has always told me I look just like her when she was my age. "You're already a senior, Mia. And . . . well, you haven't really mentioned any colleges you want to attend, or—"

I tune my mother out, trying hard not to groan aloud. Of course she would be worried about something as silly as colleges. Of course she'd make a big deal over the fact that I haven't made a choice over where I want to go.

Only, I'm not even sure college is what I want to do after high school. My parents would probably flip if they knew that, but I just don't know if it's what I want. Not like they care. My parents have had my life perfectly outlined since the day I was born, and I know that if I dared to cross the border they've surrounded me in, I'd be dead.

"Mom," I say, cutting her ranting short. "You do realize that this is only the second week of school, right? Senior year just started. I have plenty of time to decide where I want to go to school next."

I purse my lips, biting the inside of my cheeks. I'm too weak to tell her the truth. That college might not be for me. That maybe I don't want to do exactly what they think I should do. That maybe I want to live my life the way I want to live it. But I'm the invisible girl no matter where I am. Invisible people don't speak their mind. There's no one to listen if no one can even see you.

"That's not the point, Mia," Mom says. She sounds less friendly than she did to start with, and I know she's about to explode on me. "The point is that: if you're not going to be serious about your future, then who is?"

"I am serious about my future, Mom," I say. My tone isn't exactly rude, but it isn't the kindest either. I can't really help that, though. It's kind of annoying to be told how you should live your own life. "You know that."

Mom's expression softens slightly. There's a light in her hazel eyes that wasn't there before. "I know, sweetie." Mom runs a hand over my hair that I've since taken out of its ponytail, giving me a motherly smile. "I just want the best for you. So does your dad. You know that."

"I do." It's hard to choke the words out of my mouth. I feel guilty at the same time I feel overwhelmed. My parents love me. But couldn't they show it a little better? Couldn't they be less strict? Couldn't they give me some space to breathe?

Then again, would it even matter if they laid off of me? It's not like I go out much. For the millionth time today, I remind myself who I am. Invisible. My own best friend considers me pure. Thorne said I couldn't insult him if I tried.

Wait. Thorne? Since when do I think about him? It's weird, because now that he's popped into my brain, it's like he won't get out. I find myself thinking of the weirdest things, like the way I feel when he looks at me, or how it felt to have a boy like himself notice me in the first place. It's like with one thought he's somehow managed to consume me. I don't like it at the same time I do, and I've never felt so conflicted.

Girls like me aren't supposed to think about boys like him. Girls like me are supposed to fall for the good boys. The boys that will have us home by ten. The boys that get along with fathers and make good grades and everyone adores. Not boys like Thorne, the kind of boy that you're either afraid of or want to make-out with.

Then again, what kind of girl am I? Life isn't really so black and white; you can't really put every person into some sort of category. Every person is different. Unique in their own way. There is always more beneath the surface than you may think.

I find myself wishing people felt that way about me. If people really got to know me, would I still be so invisible? To know me is to love me, right? Then again, I guess I could be more approachable. I could be—

"Mia?" I blink, suddenly coming to. I glance up, finding that my mom is looking at me with concern in her eyes. That's when I realize that I did that spacing thing again, and I can feel myself blushing.

"Sorry," I mumble. I press my hands to my cheeks, hoping that will stop the burning. "I, uh, have a lot of homework. I should probably go, um, do that. Now."

"Honey, I—"

"We'll talk later, okay?" I start, cutting my mom off. "Sorry. I really need to go." With that, I grab my bookbag and rush up the stairs, closing myself in my room and locking the door for good measure. I don't know why I suddenly feel so flustered. All I know is that I have this intense need to be alone, if just for a second.

I fall back on my bed, squeezing my eyes closed and trying to relax.

I can't stop myself from wondering when everything suddenly got so complicated.