Most people hated returning to school after a holiday break. Not me. I was ready to be out from under the watchful eyes of my parents, have some space from my three younger sisters, and see my friends again. While they'd been busy on glamorous vacations or hanging out with their boyfriends, I'd been stuck in my parents’ house, existing on Mom’s hourly holiday schedule or covering shifts at our family’s health food store, Ripe.
The second my alarm clock went off for that first day back at school, I sprang out of my bed and went to the den, where I did my breathing treatments every morning. Living with asthma wasn't fun, but it was as much a part of me by now as my frizzy red hair. Just something I had to deal with.
I sat with the nebulizer on and watched videos from my favorite YouTubers. They had so much skill, and I always caught ideas on how I could make my own videos better. By the time my treatment was done, I found a new channel to subscribe to and a cool feature to ask my videography teacher, Mr. Davis, about. I’d need all the help I could get in case I didn’t make it into UCLA’s film school on my first attempt.
Locking my phone, I set it down and put the equipment away before going into the kitchen, where chaos had already ensued. (Did I mentioned I have three younger sisters?) The twins, who were balls of eight-year-old energy, were already practicing their lines for their next movie audition, while Cori talked with Mom about the advantages of eating chocolate with breakfast instead of the organic and GMO-free raisins our parents always tried to serve us with granola cereal.
Mom glanced over at me, and I could tell from the height of her frizz she was already at her wit's end.
“Morning,” I said.
“Good morning, agave nectar,” she replied with an exasperated smile. Mom used to tease me by calling me natural sweeteners instead of “honey”, and it kind of stuck.
Cori took advantage of the momentary distraction to sneakily grab a bag of dark chocolate chips and walk away. I was so getting some of those later.
“How was your treatment?” Mom asked. “Did you make sure all the medicine got used?”
“Of course,” I answered. “I’ve only been doing this every day for the last eight years.”
“Good. And your inhaler is stocked, right?”
“Yes,” I said, trying not to sound frustrated (and failing miserably).
“Look, I just know that your asthma gets worse in the winter. I want to make sure you’re taken care of.”
“I can handle it. I’ve been handling it.”
“With my supervision.”
A groan was seconds away from escaping my lips.
“Now, eat your breakfast. You girls are going to—”
“—be late,” I finished. Turning to grab a box of granola and some organic soy milk, I rolled my eyes. She said that every morning, because my parents apparently thought if you weren't at least five minutes early, you were late.
“You got some mail, by the way,” Mom said with a slight smile.
“I’ll grab it on the way out.” I set my bowl down to get the mail from the counter, but then I noticed her growing grin. “Why are you so excited?” She was never this eager for me to get my heap of spam college advertisements.
She shrugged and looked toward the ceiling. “Oh, just a little school called UCLA.”
My mouth fell open, and I basically sprinted toward the counter where we kept our mail. The big envelope lay there like a shining beacon of my freedom. I ripped it open and held the letter inches from my face.
Ginger, we are pleased to announce you have been accepted into...
“I got in!” I screamed.
“What?!” Cori and Mom yelled at the same time.
“I got into the film school!” I cried, jumping up and down.
Cori came and jumped with me. “That's awesome, Ging!”
“I need to call your father,” Mom said.
“It's going to be so great,” Cori rushed out. “You’re going to go to college and meet boys and get so awesome at videography and become a famous director! Oh, and you're going to live in the dorms! I wonder if your roommate’s gonna be like one of those creepy people who saves all of their toenail clippings? Or worse—your toenail clippings. Or maybe she'll be like your best friend forever. I mean, we all know she’s not gonna be better than me, but—”
“You’ll still be her roommate,” Mom said, covering the mouthpiece of her phone.