nose. "Are you getting a divorce?"
They exchanged an intense look.
"We hope not." Dad crossed his arms over his chest. "I know the timing isn't great, but we've decided to go away for a little bit, just the two of us."
"Go away?" My insides rushed into a galactic black hole.
"To try to work things out," Mom explained.
"Where are you going?" My real question — What about me? — stuck in my throat.
"We've booked a South America cruise," Mom said. "A second honeymoon."
Dad attempted a grin. "Forced confinement."
Mom shot him a furious look. "We leave on Saturday."
"This Saturday?" My brain freeze-dried, and a wave of vertigo threatened to knock me from the chair. "You'll miss the Winter Showcase." The look they exchanged propelled my worry meter into the stratosphere. "When do you get back?"
Dad frowned. "The day after Christmas."
"I have to spend Christmas alone?" My voice rose like I was five, not fifteen. I clutched the table to keep from toppling.
"Of course not." Dad reached for my hand, but I jerked back. He angled his head. "You're going to Palm Springs to stay with Aunt Terra and Uncle Esmun." His tone was flat, indicating this was not his idea.
"Are you serious? You think they're crazy."
Dad avoided my gaze and fingered the newspaper.
I did quick calculations in my head. "For the whole three weeks?" I pushed back the chair and stood.
They both nodded their heads like demented bobble dolls.
"I can't. I'll miss school and the Winter Showcase." I eyed the kitchen sink and the soap dispenser. "Why can't I stay with Jazmin?"
Mom's gaze flicked to Dad before returning to me. "I've already talked with her mother. Unfortunately, Mrs. Jackson has her hands full. They have family coming for the holidays, and her husband is scheduled for surgery next week."
"Skiing is stupid." Parents are stupid.
Dad's eyebrows arched.
"And Jazmin's grandmother, aunt, uncle, and cousins are coming for Kwanzaa," Mom continued. "So it's just not a good time."
"We should have checked with them before we booked," Dad admonished.
"You should have checked with me!" My knuckles whitened from gripping the chair.
My cell phone rang.
"Don't answer it," Dad warned. "This is important."
My fingers twitched. Mom and Dad glared at me. A square of blue light from my phone seeped through the thin black fabric of my backpack.
Mom's lips tightened. "I spoke with the dean. You'll only miss one week. The rest is Winter Break."
"I'll miss finals! You'll destroy my grade average. I'll never get into Columbia." In a flash, I saw my career as an astrophysicist explode like the Space Shuttle Challenger. I'd never get a chance to study with the elusive string theory expert, Professor Sean Mackenzie.
My phone beeped again.
"Ains, we're not destroying anything. Since you are an A student, your teachers have agreed to let you take your finals when you return."
"Except AP French," Mom corrected him. "You have to take it on Friday."
"Are you insane? I have rehearsals Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday after class! When am I supposed to study?" I rushed to the oversized sink and opened the faucet. Warm water stung the cuts on my cracked skin.
"We're sorry," Dad said.
"Yeah, right." Pump, pump, pump, and wash. The soap foamed between my fingers. Pump, pump, pump, and wash.
"Ains, that's enough." Dad handed me a used hand towel.
My hands remained dangling over the sink. Hot tears scoured my cheeks.
"Let her get her own towel," Mom told Dad.
"Stop enabling her," Dad snapped.
My cries morphed into howls. I reached for the soap dispenser.
"I can't take this." Dad threw the towel on the counter and strode out of the room.
Pump, pump, pump—
"Sweetie, I think you have enough soap."
My nose ran. Would this nightmare never end? The soap and water cascaded over my hands and wrists.
"Shall I call the school and tell them you won't make it?" Mom asked in a calm monotone.
"No!" I shrieked. "They'll lower my grade if I miss too many days."
Mom
They exchanged an intense look.
"We hope not." Dad crossed his arms over his chest. "I know the timing isn't great, but we've decided to go away for a little bit, just the two of us."
"Go away?" My insides rushed into a galactic black hole.
"To try to work things out," Mom explained.
"Where are you going?" My real question — What about me? — stuck in my throat.
"We've booked a South America cruise," Mom said. "A second honeymoon."
Dad attempted a grin. "Forced confinement."
Mom shot him a furious look. "We leave on Saturday."
"This Saturday?" My brain freeze-dried, and a wave of vertigo threatened to knock me from the chair. "You'll miss the Winter Showcase." The look they exchanged propelled my worry meter into the stratosphere. "When do you get back?"
Dad frowned. "The day after Christmas."
"I have to spend Christmas alone?" My voice rose like I was five, not fifteen. I clutched the table to keep from toppling.
"Of course not." Dad reached for my hand, but I jerked back. He angled his head. "You're going to Palm Springs to stay with Aunt Terra and Uncle Esmun." His tone was flat, indicating this was not his idea.
"Are you serious? You think they're crazy."
Dad avoided my gaze and fingered the newspaper.
I did quick calculations in my head. "For the whole three weeks?" I pushed back the chair and stood.
They both nodded their heads like demented bobble dolls.
"I can't. I'll miss school and the Winter Showcase." I eyed the kitchen sink and the soap dispenser. "Why can't I stay with Jazmin?"
Mom's gaze flicked to Dad before returning to me. "I've already talked with her mother. Unfortunately, Mrs. Jackson has her hands full. They have family coming for the holidays, and her husband is scheduled for surgery next week."
"Skiing is stupid." Parents are stupid.
Dad's eyebrows arched.
"And Jazmin's grandmother, aunt, uncle, and cousins are coming for Kwanzaa," Mom continued. "So it's just not a good time."
"We should have checked with them before we booked," Dad admonished.
"You should have checked with me!" My knuckles whitened from gripping the chair.
My cell phone rang.
"Don't answer it," Dad warned. "This is important."
My fingers twitched. Mom and Dad glared at me. A square of blue light from my phone seeped through the thin black fabric of my backpack.
Mom's lips tightened. "I spoke with the dean. You'll only miss one week. The rest is Winter Break."
"I'll miss finals! You'll destroy my grade average. I'll never get into Columbia." In a flash, I saw my career as an astrophysicist explode like the Space Shuttle Challenger. I'd never get a chance to study with the elusive string theory expert, Professor Sean Mackenzie.
My phone beeped again.
"Ains, we're not destroying anything. Since you are an A student, your teachers have agreed to let you take your finals when you return."
"Except AP French," Mom corrected him. "You have to take it on Friday."
"Are you insane? I have rehearsals Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday after class! When am I supposed to study?" I rushed to the oversized sink and opened the faucet. Warm water stung the cuts on my cracked skin.
"We're sorry," Dad said.
"Yeah, right." Pump, pump, pump, and wash. The soap foamed between my fingers. Pump, pump, pump, and wash.
"Ains, that's enough." Dad handed me a used hand towel.
My hands remained dangling over the sink. Hot tears scoured my cheeks.
"Let her get her own towel," Mom told Dad.
"Stop enabling her," Dad snapped.
My cries morphed into howls. I reached for the soap dispenser.
"I can't take this." Dad threw the towel on the counter and strode out of the room.
Pump, pump, pump—
"Sweetie, I think you have enough soap."
My nose ran. Would this nightmare never end? The soap and water cascaded over my hands and wrists.
"Shall I call the school and tell them you won't make it?" Mom asked in a calm monotone.
"No!" I shrieked. "They'll lower my grade if I miss too many days."
Mom
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