I laugh to myself. So I guess it’s safe to say her date with Malik was a success. I don’t get how she justfeelseverything so hard. That must require some serious energy.
I can smell my mom’s omelets from where I sit upstairs in bed. My door creaks open, and Kyla pokes her head in and then shouts down the stairs, “She’s awake! Can we eat already?”
I push myself out of bed. “You didn’t have to wait for me,” I tell her, yanking on her ponytail as I jog past her and down the stairs.
“Mom said so. She said to let you sleep in.”
That makes me perk up. Maybe it will be the perfect morning to ask for a reprieve. Maybe I do deserve to sleep in and even go on a date.
Downstairs, I find my mom setting the table while mysister examines each omelet to be sure she gets the best one.
“Keith had to run into work for a bit,” says Mom. “So it’s just us girls.”
The three of us sit down, and my mom pours two glasses of orange juice, for herself and me, while Kyla demands to pour her own. I think this is the first time we’ve all sat together for a meal in weeks. Mom’s always busy with work and running Kyla to dance class and soccer, and Keith has been picking up extra shifts to save for the vacation he and my mom have talked about taking us all on for years now.
“I don’t want to take dance classes anymore,” announces Kyla with her mouth full of egg and cheese.
“Excuse me?” asks Mama. “Swallow your food and try again.”
Kyla takes a sip of orange juice and then sits up on her knees, so that she’s at eye level with both of us. “I want to quit dance.”
I slink back a little. This is definitely my fault. “You’ll regret it, Kyla bear,” I tell her.
“And just what brought this on?” Mama asks. I can hear it in her voice, the way she’s trying not to overreact. But truthfully, Mama is a dance mom. She even has the bumper stickers to prove it.
Kyla shrugs, oblivious to the tension mounting around her. “Callie doesn’t dance anymore.”
Great. One more thing for Mama to blame me for.
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say she quit of her own volition,” Mama reminds her.
“Well, it’s not like that was my choice,” I remind her.
Kyla looks to me. “Well, you don’t seem to miss it very much.”
I shake my head. The kid misses nothing.
“Well,” says Mama, “after the spring recital we’ll look at taking some time off of dance. But you’ve already made a commitment, and we always follow through on a commitment. Don’t we?”
“Only ’cause you make us,” says Kyla.
Mama stares her down into submission.
Kyla huffs. “Okay.” After a few more bites, she hops down from her chair and announces that she has television to catch up on.
“Don’t watchTiny House Hunterswithout me!” I call.
“Put your plate in the sink,” Mama tells her.
With Kyla in the living room and the TV turned up a little too loud, I watch as my mom scrapes her fork around her plate, not really eating anything.
“I’ll talk to Kyla,” I tell her.
She doesn’t look up. “I think you’ve done enough damage.”
That stings. I pull in a deep breath. “You can’t be mad at me forever.”
“No,” she says, “but I can be disappointed in you for an awfully long time.”
