“Worth the distraction.”
“You’re awfully serious, aren’t you?” I wonder if she’s going to be one of those naggy, disciplined types who gets all pissy if I stay up late texting on school nights. She better not be.
“I have no choice,” Nicole says with a wry smile. “If my performance slips even a little, Headmaster Higgins could pull my scholarship.”
A scholarship kid. Now it all makes sense.
My phone buzzes on the bedside table, the screen flashing Mom’s name. With a roll of my eyes, I pick up.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, mija.” That’s my mom’s nickname for me, short for “my daughter” in Spanish. You might be fooled into thinking the nickname makes my mom the warm and fuzzy type, but no. It’s what her own mother called her when she was young; I simply inherited the name, like a hand-me-down coat.
“How did today go? Your schedule looking good? Did you get into the classes we wanted?”
My mother is one of those slightly scary politico types, a fast-talker with ambition oozing from her veins. I wonder if it’s her fault that the idea of being a superachiever is so unappealing to me. She makes it look exhausting.
“My schedule is fine,” I tell her. “I didn’t get into the APs, but whatever, I’m glad. It’ll be easier this way.”
I glance at Nicole, who politely turns away, riffling through her bags. On the other end of the line, I hear Mom cluck her tongue.
“That’s a shame. The Ivies will expect to see some AP classes on your transcript. You’ll need to work harder, Lana, and then try again for next semester.”
I stay silent, waiting for her to finish her chiding.
“Just promise me you’ll apply yourself, and that you won’t perpetuate the stereotype of the pretty girl who falls behind academically. You know you’re better than that.”
I feel myself bristle at her words.
“Okay, Mom, I’ll be sure not to perpetuate anything.”
“No need to take that tone. I’m only looking out for you, mija. Now, tell me about Congressman Porter’s son.”
I flop back onto the bed. How am I supposed to explain to my all-business mother—especially with this new roommate of mine listening—the feeling I got when I saw him? The one that wiped clean any sort of agenda and replaced it with unbiased desire.
“It’s not a good time. I did what you asked, though.” Before she can interject, I add, “Talk to you later, Mom. Tell Dad I said hi.”
Nicole turns back to me as I hang up.
“What’s your mom like?”
I’ve never been asked that question before. Most people know exactly who she is and what she’s like.
“My mother is Congresswoman Diana Rivera, representing New York,” I recite. “She was elected House Majority Whip in 2014 and was recently named Glamour magazine’s Woman of the Year. In her spare time, she and her attorney husband are spearheading the fund-raising efforts for DC’s first museum of Puerto Rican Arts and Culture.”
“Wow,” Nicole remarks. “That was quite the official bio.”
“Yeah. It’s from the USA.gov website.”
Nicole laughs.
“Well, she sounds incredible. You must be so proud to have a mom like that.”
“Yep.” And it’s true, I was—right up until the moment I realized I was expected to follow in her formidable footsteps. That’s when the pride grew into something else.
I’m already tired of this topic, so I turn it back to Nicole. “What about your parents?”
Her expression twists, as if she just tasted something sour.
“I don’t know my dad. My mom had me pretty young, so…they weren’t exactly a couple. But she’s awesome. She just has to work a ton, being a single mom. She’s an assistant to a financial adviser back home in Pittsburgh.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure how to respond to any of that. “So where did the music thing come from?”
Nicole shrugs.
“I was born with it, I guess. My dad, wherever he is, must be a musician.”
I try to imagine not having a father, and the thought sends a shudder through me. My dad is pretty much my favorite thing about home.
A knock on the door interrupts us, and Stephanie waltzes in.
“Can you believe they separated us? I thought for sure this would be my room—” She notices Nicole. “Oh, hi. I’m Stephanie.”
Nicole smiles shyly.
“Nicole Morgan.”
Stephanie grabs my hand, pulling me toward the door.
“Come on, we’re meeting Jen and Kara in the Media Room before dinner.”
I wonder if proper roommate etiquette would have me inviting Nicole to come with us, and introducing her to my inner circle. But I don’t. I simply give her a wave and a smile, and head out the door with Stephanie.
I can’t help but feel a flicker of relief as I leave her behind.