Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

“What about your track teammates?”
I can’t help rolling my eyes. “I don’t have to like them to run with
them.”
“Want to talk about it?”
I’m tempted. I mean, I haven’t spoken to anyone but descendants
since we got here. And she’s the only non-descendant I’m
allowed to talk to about everything that’s going on. Besides, before
the stepdad entered the picture we were like best friends. We talked
about everything. I could talk to her about things I couldn’t even
talk about with Nola and Cesca. I cried on her shoulder when jerky
Justin dumped me and she didn’t even try to shrink me.
But I can’t forget what Stella said about Mom agreeing that I
should stay here—or the fact that it’s Mom’s fault I’m in this mess
in the first place.
“No, I’m exhausted,” I say. “I’m just going to check e-mail and
go to bed.”
“You would feel better if you got things off your chest.”
“Really,” I insist. “I’m fine.”
I can tell she isn’t satisfied. Maybe if she were just in parent
mode I would talk to her, work through things rationally. But I’m
in no mood to unload my issues—especially not on Super-Therapist
Mom.
“You know, I’ve been thinking.” She smiles big, in a way that
means she thinks she has a fabulous idea. “Why don’t we have a
mother-daughter day? We could go to the village and browse the
little shops and have sundaes at the ice cream parlor.”
“I don’t know, Mom. I’ve go so much going on—”
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