KYLE:
I smell the cookies as soon as I
open the front door. I’ve always thought my mom had a sixth sense for when I
may have a rough day, and might need a chocolate chip pick me up after school.
I should really figure out how to make those things before I leave for college,
they might come in handy around finals.
“Kyle?”
“It’s me, Mom.” I responded as I
stepped into the kitchen and hung my backpack up on the hook, before my mom
would remind me to do so like every other school day for the past 12 years.
“Don’t forget to hang your backpack
up,” Mom said, pulling the cookie sheet out of the oven. I rolled my eyes. “Wait a sec, where’s
Tracey?” Tracey and I are usually together at one of our houses after school.
Instead of answering, I scooped up a couple of cookies.
“Those are hot, Kyle! Be careful.”
“It’s the best way to eat them,
Mom. I prefer a few scorched fingers.”
“You didn’t answer my question,
Kyle. Where’s Tracey? Is she coming over in a bit?” Trust her to keep asking.
When I hesitated over my answer, she looked me over. Her intuition is kicking
in again. Cookies, questions. It’s actually impressive, while also annoying. I
sighed.
“Want to talk about it?” At least
she’s asking instead of demanding.
“No.” Realizing that might hurt her
feelings, I softened the refusal with, “Not right now anyway.”
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