Page 3 of Shifting Tides
The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to make this party happen. But how? Maybe I could reason with Mom. I wasn’t a child anymore. I was seventeen, and in just a few months, I’d be a legal adult and wouldn’t need her permission anyway.
Not to mention, I’d been feeling for some time now that I deserved an explanation for the crazy rules. A little bit of truth was long overdue.
“Okay,” I decided, suddenly feeling brave. “I’ll find a way to go. Meet me at my house at seven.”
“Make it eight,” Shea said. “Only losers go to a party on time. Or so I’ve heard.”
“Eight it is.” A bubble of excitement bounced in my chest, shadowed by a stab of doubt threatening to pop it.
***
“Dinner’s ready,” Mom called from the kitchen.
I’d been pacing in my room for close to an hour, trying to put together just the right words to make my case. It had been years since I pushed for any kind of leniency on the rules, accepting them as just a way of life.
For the most part, I hadn’t really minded. I was fairly content to stay in with Mom every night and watch movies or play games. I was fine not being glued to my phone as most teens were—though, let’s be real, I might be slightly addicted to streaming services. I was even okay with the fact that I’d never been swimming before. Not like I knew what I was missing.
But this party was a chance to have some real fun, to be normal for one precious night. Until Shea brought it up, I hadn’t admitted to myself how desperately I wanted to be like everyone else. Moving around all the time was exhausting, and not having lasting friends was…lonely.
Mom owed me this one small exception to the rules.
I took one deep breath in front of the mirror, fixing my hair just right as if preparing for a speech in front of a large audience. I tried to steal some confidence from the bold blue strands that framed my face—thanks to a bottle of dye and Shea’s goading.
You can do this, I told myself, then turned away from my reflection and headed for the kitchen.
Mom looked up as she was setting the table and smiled at me when I entered.
Her long pale blonde hair always seemed to waft around her, as if unbound by the laws of gravity, forever floating in a sea of its own imagination. I had no idea where I got my black-as-midnight hair, but I undoubtedly got my eyes from Mom, whose own cerulean irises were bright with happiness this evening.
I felt an extra twinge of guilt, knowing that I was about to snuff out their light with the words I’d prepared.
“I made your favorite,” Mom said, placing a full plate on the table. “Pesto grilled salmon and fettuccine alfredo.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said through the lump in my throat. I sat at the table and looked down at my plate, the delicious smell taunting me.
“How was school today?” she asked as she sat across the table and poked a fork into her food.
“It was alright.” I looked out the window. The last bit of daylight was clinging lazily to the horizon, slowly dragging its glow across the late autumn sky.
“Just alright?” Mom asked before popping a bite of herb-covered fish into her mouth.
The clock would be striking seven soon.Now is as good a time as any.
“Actually, something kinda cool did happen today,” I hedged, picking at my food. “One of the football players is throwing a party tonight, and I was invited to go.”
Her jaw froze mid-chew, and the light immediately vanished from her eyes.
“Shea will be there,” I added quickly. “We won’t stay long; just one hour would be enough. And I promise not to drink any—”
“Not tonight,” Mom cut me off.
I’d expected this response. “Mom, I never get to go to social functions. I’m not asking for something outrageous here. Justoneparty, at which I promise to be on my best behavior.”
“There will be other parties,” she said, her casual tone masking whatever dark and heavy secret she was keeping.
“Parties that you still won’t let me go to,” I said, unable to keep a bit of sass out of my voice. “I don’t get it. Every girlmy age gets to go out after school. Everyone gets to hang out with friends and do things at night.”
“But those girls aren’t my daughters.” Her tone warned me not to continue, but I wasn’t going to heed it this time.
