I should probably be annoyed that she thinks Twitter takes priority over my actual education-especially considering she put me in one of the most competitive schools in the country-but it’s nice, in a way. “Don’t forget to leave your phone on tomorrow, so Taffy can reach you.” These days my mom and I are too busy for much more than this-weird post-midnight encounters in the kitchen, both of us already poised with one foot out the door. It’s weird, that I kind of look back on that misery with a fondness.
My mom had put us into this strange new world, and she was determined to make us both fit. It spurred her into action faster than if I’d come home literally on fire-within the week, I had more makeup products than my bathroom counter could hold, lessons with a stylist about blow-drying, one-on-one private tutoring so I could catch up to the elite curriculum. That day I came home, took one look at my mom, and started to bawl. That first day of school, everyone stared at me as if I were an alien, and compared to my Manhattan-bred peers who were raised on Starbucks and YouTube makeup tutorials, I basically was. Of course, I didn’t know that until we moved here into this whole new ecosystem of other kids.
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