“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s from Columbia,” he said. “University. In New York.”
“Let the college wooing begin!” I cried. “Did you write for info?”
“No, but it’s actually my favorite school. My dad and I used to go up to the campus when we lived in New York.” He was looking at it almost reverently, and I tried to imagine what he was picturing: wrought-iron gates, brick buildings, cool fall air and the crunch of his dad’s shoes walking through leaves as Oliver did the same.
“Columbia’d be cool,” I said, trying not to drop anything as I balanced my backpack, the mail, and my keys. “You could go back to New York.”
“Are you kidding? If your parents won’t let you go to San Diego, there’s no way mine’s letting me go back to New York. She’d probably try to move into my dorm with me.”
“She’d be your roomie!” I said. “You could take classes together, be study buddies . . .”
“Oh my God, stop,” Oliver said, but he was laughing, too. “Just stop talking. I don’t even want to think about rooming with my mom.”
“I’d watch that reality show for sure,” I told him. “Like, number one priority on the DVR, no question.”
“Emmy!” My mom’s voice rang out from the front door. “Time to come in.” She sounded unamused, to say the least.
“The warden calls,” I whispered to Oliver, who kept his face serious even though his mouth twitched. “Okay!” I yelled back at her, then “accidentally” dropped one of the envelopes. “See you tomorrow?” I said to Oliver as I stooped to pick it up.
“Nice move,” he said, smirking at me. “And yeah. Hope you get out on good behavior.”
“Emmy! Now!”
“Yeah, don’t hold your breath,” I said, then blew a kiss in his direction before turning around and trudging up the driveway and into the house.
“You know you’re not allowed to spend time with Oliver right now,” my mom said the second the front door shut behind me.
“My day was fine, thanks,” I replied. “And yours?”
“Emily.”
I sighed. “Mom, I drove him home and we got the mail, and now I’m here. Inside. You always overreact.”
She just held out her hand for the mail and I gave it to her before going upstairs. “Your dad’s working late tonight,” she called after me, and I paused on the stairs’ landing. “And I have to cater a benefit over in Irvine, so you’ll be on your own. I put dinner in the refrigerator for you.”
Wait for it, I thought. Wait for it . . .
“And you know no one is allowed over tonight while we’re gone.”
There it is.
“I know, Mom,” I said. “The details are pretty clear.”
“Well, seeing as how you’ve been lying to us about so many other things.”
She was flipping through the mail, not really paying attention to me, so I gave her one good eye roll before going up to my room. Again, the urge to slam the door was overwhelming. Maybe that’s what I’ll do while I’m home alone, I thought. Slam my bedroom door a few times. Another wild and crazy night at Chez Emmy.
Instead, I changed clothes and did my homework sans music or the internet. It turns out that being grounded makes you really productive, and I cranked through two chapters of my civics textbook and diagrammed the Krebs Cycle for bio by the time I realized it was dark outside and my mom was knocking on my bedroom door. “Okay, I’m going,” she said. “Food is downstairs for you. Bed by ten.”
“’Kay,” I said. I must have looked like the model child, sitting at my desk with no distractions, surrounded by textbooks and notepads and highlighters.
“I’ll be home by eleven, Dad should be here by ten thirty.”
“’Kay.”
“Emmy, don’t sulk.”
“I’m not sulking!” I said. “I just said okay, that’s it! What else do you want me to say?”
She ignored my question. “Are you doing your homework?”
“No, I’m plotting a government takeover.” I held up a highlighter. “Can’t do it without the pink one, though. That’s just foolish.”
My mom narrowed her eyes at me, but ignored that comment, too. “Bed by ten,” she said again. “You stay up too late.”
I bit back a comment about how ten p.m. is practially late afternoon, and instead just said okay again.
“Call me if you need anything.”
“Mom.” I closed my eyes, then opened them. “Okay.”
She looked at me one last time, like she didn’t know who I was, like I was some stranger who had moved into her daughter’s room and was organizing her school supplies. “Bye,” she finally said, then went downstairs. I waited until I heard the garage door close behind her, then the sound of her car disappearing down the street, before I closed my textbooks and went downstairs to eat dinner.
It was turkey meat loaf with a mustard glaze and red smashed potatoes, one of my top three favorite meals, and I wondered if it was a concession while I ate and watched an episode of the Kardashians. None of the Kardashians were ever grounded. One of them even made a sex tape! My mom would probably sacrifice me to the gods if I had a leaked sex tape. (Which, just to clear up any confusion, is not something that I will ever, ever have. Leaked or not.)