Chapter 3
I always heard people talk about how good it feels to have the sun wake them up, but I never actually understood it until today.
Back in Lorial, our apartment faced another building, so the light would enter in ribbons. At the center, the sun could barely get into our units because of the thick bars on the windows. Here, the sun bathes my room with golden light, heating my skin to a point that’s slightly uncomfortable.
It’s Sunday. School starts tomorrow, which means I have one day to adjust to my new life before everything changes again.
My mom pokes her head in. “I have to run to the supermarket. Wanna come?” she asks.
“Okay,” I say.
I’m out of the bathroom in record time and throw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. I look in the mirror, surprised at just how well they fit, and make a mental note to thank Kayla later.
Soon, I’m sliding into the plush seat of Mom’s car and we’re heading toward town. At a red light, she turns to look at me. “I’m happy you came.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes, and then she spends the rest of the ride yelling corrections at her new phone, which is doing a hilariously bad job of compiling her shopping list.
“Bouillon cubes!!” she yells at the holder on the dashboard. I offer to write the list on my phone, but she waves off the suggestion. “I swear I’ll take it back.”
I smile, glad to have something to break the tension between us, but I can’t help but notice how different this all feels. We used to stock up on the same things from Foodtown twice a month when she got paid, and we definitely didn’t make shopping lists.
“I hope I don’t forget anything,” she says, pulling into a parking space. She tells me to grab the reusable bags from the trunk, and I try not to laugh as she cups her hands to whisper “boooo-yonnnn” into her phone.
Inside, she gets a cart, and I ask if she wants to split up so I can help find the groceries.
We used to always get two carts to maximize our time since she usually had another shift to get to.
She would head to the meat section in search of chicken parts recently marked down because of close expiration dates, then pick up a dozen and a half eggs, a carton of milk, a brick of cheese, and a loaf of wheat bread.
I would head to the freezer section for bags of steamable veggies that were perpetually ten for ten dollars and five boxes of Ellio’s Pizza.
On my way to meet her at the register in the middle, I’d grab a bag of white rice and five boxes of Kraft mac and cheese. Efficient is what she called it.
Now, she thinks for a moment. “Nope, we’ve got time,” she says. “Let’s stick together.” The guy behind the counter hands her meat wrapped in paper, and we keep moving.
“You don’t have any snacks at the house, Jas,” my mom says as we make our way down an aisle, “so get whatever you want.”
I look at her suspiciously. I’ve never heard her say that. She smiles encouragingly and waves me off with a “go!”
But it’s not that easy. Even though she worked hard for her money, we still never got just anything. I don’t know if my mind even works that way. I run my eyes over the snacks and tell myself not to look at the prices.
“Jasmine, oh my goodness,” my mom whispers loudly from down the aisle. “Do you remember these?”
She’s holding up a pack of strawberry wafers.
How could I forget? They were a highlight of our Saturday nights before she started to work all the time.
She used to say it was important to do something for us.
The wafers would be the one deviation during our shopping trips.
She’d call it a splurge, buying two packs at a time and telling the cashier, “We deserve this,” like they were judging her for it.
“Even the little things can be special,” she’d say from the kitchen, dividing a pack of wafers and pouring strawberry milk into her special wine glasses.
We were so close back then. It feels good to know she remembers.
“Of course, Mom,” I say, taking the pack from her and tossing it into the cart. She starts to protest as I pluck a few more off the shelf and add them to the pile. “You said anything!”
“You’re right,” she says with a shrug. “Then how about another flavor for good measure?” She picks up a chocolate one.
“Janice?” a woman calls out from behind me just as my mom turns to put the wafers in the cart. “I knew that was you!” Her voice is breathless, like she ran over here.
My mom smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Hey, Melanie,” she says, casually moving to block the view of our cart.
“What a beauty!” Melanie practically shrieks. “You’re a total spitting image of your mother,” she says, looking at me.
“That’s sweet of you,” my mom says.
“Has Kendall been by to meet her?”
“Not yet, but Kayla will introduce them on Monday.”
Melanie adjusts a pearl pin pulling back one side of her blond hair. “You’ll love Kendall, she’s beautiful and one of Kayla’s best friends,” she says. “I could be biased because she’s mine, but hey.” She laughs and I realize that she looks at my mom whenever she does.
I smile and nod.
“We all love her,” my mom adds.
Melanie beams and then turns back to me. “So, your mom told me you were at boarding school?” She crosses her arms like she’s settling in for a story.
My mom clears her throat. I can tell from the look on her face that I should go with it.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say as politely as I can.
“I guess we could all use a little vacation from home sometimes, huh?” Melanie says, winking.
A vacation? I keep my face straight.
My mom squeezes my shoulder lightly. “We’re really excited she’s back,” she says, but Melanie isn’t even looking at us anymore—she’s too busy staring at her phone. Still, I feel my heart lift at my mom’s reassurance, which feels like the most genuine part of this whole exchange.
“Of course you are,” Melanie says after an awkward pause, throwing her phone in her bag.
She glances at our cart and seems to remember she came here to do something too.
“Well, I better go get Bob’s ice cream before he leaves me,” she says.
“Please don’t eat all of that at once.” She points to the wafers.
My mom’s grasp tightens on my shoulder and she forces a laugh. I know she’s embarrassed. She lets me go as soon as Melanie walks off and starts putting the wafers back.
“We shouldn’t be eating anything with that much sugar anyway,” she says.
I don’t challenge her. I can recognize the hard time she’s having. It’s not easy to fit in anywhere. I grab the cart as she pulls up her list again.
“Thanks, Jasmine,” she says softly.
We finish up our shopping and head to the car. My mom puts the last bag in the trunk, slips into the driver’s seat, and closes her door quietly.
“Jasmine, I wanted to talk to you about this, and I’m sorry it came up before we had the chance, but I’d like to stick with the boarding school story for the time being,” she says.
My heart drops. “You want me to lie?”
She takes a deep breath and faces me. “I want you to give yourself a chance to be known for something other than where you’ve been.
You’re a different person now and you should be able to show people that without their judgment.
Detention center is not a normal thing around here.
They wouldn’t understand. You get that?”
“I get it. I’ll do it,” I say, numb.
“Thank you,” she says, her eyes back on the dashboard. “I’ve spoken to your new school, and to Kayla. She understands how important this is, too.”
I nod, knowing I don’t have much choice in the matter anyway.
As we drive home, Mom is quiet, the lighthearted feeling from earlier gone.
I look out the window and try to sort out what I’m feeling.
I want my mom to be proud of me. I want to really embrace this second chance, not just for her but for myself, too.
I’ve messed things up so badly that I can only fix them by being a new person.
Yet somehow, this fresh start doesn’t feel all that great.
I’ve lied before … why is this different?
The cold hard fact of it slices through my gut. Because there’s a difference between us keeping a secret together and her being ashamed of me.