I wake and reality slaps me in the face.
My mother's yelling somewhere in the house. The phone call with my uncle has gotten uglier. I can't make out her words, but one sounds like casserole. Only, I know, she doesn't say casserole.
I imagine my uncle struggling to come up with a counter-argument on the other side of the phone. I should have accepted his offer to come here and face this with me.
Maybe, just maybe, I should have gone to Disney World after all.
My stomach coils again, tighter and tighter like a snake suffocating its prey. I turn in bed, counting my collection of books. Crystals of the world, an illustrated guide. Tornadoes of the twentieth century. The solar system. Hurricane Andrina: A Warning Unheeded. I run my finger along the spine of each book, taking in every curve and corner of each title, until my mother stops yelling and silence falls.
I'm not sure if I like it.
Then, footsteps.
I shovel my books down into the space between the wall and my bed in case Mom gets any more ideas and orders me to toss them out. I finish a second before the door opens.
My mother stands in the doorway, hands on the frame as if to hold herself up. She speaks in a low, tired voice, like she's used all of her strength yelling already.
"Allie," she says. "Your father and I have made a decision. Your obsession with disasters could get you in trouble someday. You need to explore some new interests. You're going to start by helping my friend Nicole with her daughter's graduation party next week. I'm sure she'll love the help."
My insides about die. If there's one social event I hate as much as weddings, it's open houses. "Nicole's daughter doesn't even like me. And how is an open house exploring new interests?”
Mom smiles. It's an I-don't-care-what-you-think smile. "By meeting new people. You don't have enough friends."
"The friends I have are fine!”
If my words bother her, Mom doesn't show it. "Next Saturday," she says, turning and closing the door with a gentle click that's the most infuriating noise I've ever heard.