Dear Estella,

3. blueberry protein bars

"So, let me get this straight," Brooke says as she sets her fork down on her plate, chewing her chicken alfredo. "Your day was terrible and embarrassing, and you also don't want me to make you lunch anymore."

I smile, twirling chicken alfredo around my fork repeatedly. "It's not that I don't love your well thought-out lunches, Brooke. It's just... I feel like they all thought I was childish for bringing my uncrusted sandwich and my little bag filled with Goldfish crackers."

I move my fork around my plate absentmindedly, not having much of an appetite for alfredo. Or anything, for that matter.

Brooke frowns but nods understandingly. She lets out a dramatic sigh as she twists more of the pasta around her fork. "Well if I'm not making you lunch anymore, I'm pretty much useless."

I throw my head back and laugh at Brooke's statement. "That couldn't be farther from the truth. You know that."

Brooke shrugs. "I don't know. I mean, you're all grown and independent now so I think my time here has come to an end."

My smile fades into a frown at Brooke's words. I know that technically, I have no need for a nanny anymore. But Brooke has come to be my only company in the cold house I live in. She's become the only person that I feel I am able to confide in, and for that reason, the idea of Brooke leaving and never returning is terrifying.

"I'm kidding," Brooke says to me, trying to calm my nerves. "I'm going to be here for you, Stel. Until the day you decide you don't need me anymore. And even then, I'll still be here for you."

My shoulders visibly slump in relief. I can't imagine a world without Brooke. I don't want to imagine a world without her.

It would be a dark, lonely world.

"You're my best friend," I say to her quietly. "I know it's your job to look after me, but I appreciate you. So much."

Brooke smiles, wiping underneath her eye. "Don't make me get all emotional and sentimental."

With a chuckle, I continue to eat the meal Brooke prepared for the both of us. Chicken alfredo is her forte. She cooks it at least three times a month, but I'm not complaining. It gets better each time I eat it.

"So how'd your friends react when you told them you've been homeschooled your whole life?" She asks curiously before taking a sip of her water.

I twirl a few noodles around my fork. "I, um— I didn't tell them that."

"Why not?" Brooke asks, her eyebrows furrowed.

I shrug, averting my gaze from her. "It's kind of embarrassing."

Brooke's mouth opens to respond, but her phone rings before she's able get a word out. She looks down to her screen and picks it up. "Hold on one second. This conversation isn't over."

I watch as she stands up and walks away from the table with her phone pressed against her ear. She leaves to the kitchen in conversation with whoever's on the other end of the line.

Saved by the bell, huh?

I know exactly what Brooke was going to say. It would be something along the lines of, being homeschooled is nothing to be embarrassed about, Stel or you shouldn't care what other people think. Their opinions don't matter.

But it's not that simple, at least not in my eyes. Being homeschooled for eleven years isn't conventional by any means. All it means is that I've never experienced what every other one of my peers has experienced. I've never had to complete a group project or attend a teacher-parent conference or get a permission slip signed for a field trip.