3

 

I don’t need to bore you with the details of my swimming class. All you need to know is that we concentrated on the backstroke, which happens to be my least favorite stroke. I’m not sure how mastering the backstroke is going to help me get into a good college. You’ll have to ask my dad that one.

And I definitely don’t need to bore you by talking about the session I had with my math tutor after swimming. Technically, I suppose it could help with the college math test I’ll need to take in high school. Unless I forget everything, which, considering the test is about five years away, is entirely possible.

So let’s get right to the unboring part.

The night started out pretty much like every other night. My dad came home at his usual time, meaning after my mom and I had finished dinner. (Dad has a job in “overseas markets.” I have no idea what that means except for the fact that he works a lot. So does my mom, even though she doesn’t have a job job.)

Dad sat down to dinner, and Nana joined him.

“When are you going to admit that the president is doing a lousy job?” Dad asked her.

“As soon as you admit your guy would have been ten times worse,” Nana answered.

Then they proceeded to argue about politics the entire meal, the way they do every night. They love every second of it.

After dinner, my mom and my dad sat down on the couch to watch TV while rubbing each other’s feet. That was also a nightly ritual—and it was the only time I ever saw them completely relax. Nana thought it was adorable. I thought it was kind of gross.

I decided to make my move halfway through their TV show, when they would be at their peak of relaxation.

“Mom? Dad? I have a question.”

My dad put the show on pause.

“What’s up?” asked my mom.

“Well, I got a call today from Cathy Billows, who’s like this really popular girl in our school.”

“I hate that word,” said my mom, meaning popular. She was the type of person who wanted all kids to be popular.

My dad looked curious. I didn’t get a call from a popular girl every day. Or any girl, for that matter.

“What did she want?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” I said, shuffling my feet. I was nervous, probably because I knew what was coming. “She invited me to her party Friday night. It’s kind of a big deal. I really want to go.”

My dad leaned back on the couch with a big sigh. “Well, that’s bad timing. You have your cello recital Friday night, which obviously you can’t miss.”

I felt my whole body get stiff. “Why not? Why can’t I skip the recital, just this once?”

“You can’t skip the recital,” my dad said. “I don’t care if the president himself invited you to the White House. You made the commitment to the cello, and this recital is the most important event of the year.”

I flopped down on a chair. “I didn’t make the commitment to the cello, you did!”

My mom looked at my dad. “Honey, maybe just this once—”

“Not just this once,” my dad said, the volume of his voice starting to increase just a bit. “He goes to the recital, and that’s it!”

Maddie hated fighting, so she gave a worried little bark and left the room. Nana, on the other hand, never missed a fight, so she came in.

“I can’t believe this,” I said. “This is ridiculous. I never get to do anything I want to do!”

“He’s right,” said Nana. “Let the kid live a little, for God’s sake.”

“Rose, you’re not helping,” my dad said, calling Nana by her real first name.

“Well, I’m not hurting,” said Nana.

My mom tried to hug me, but I squirmed away. “Honey, there will be other parties,” she said, “but this recital is very important, and you’re such a wonderful cellist.”

She was right. I was pretty good. And I actually liked playing the cello, usually. Right then, I couldn’t stand it.

“But, hey, that’s great you got invited,” said my dad. “And the fact that you can’t go will just make them want you even more next time.”

“What next time?” I said. “Who says there’s going to be a next time? I don’t know what it was like when you went to middle school, but kids like me don’t usually get a second chance. Thanks for nothing.”

And with that, I went upstairs to not do my homework.