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“That I see Toby too much?” I huff at that “He’s my boyfriend Of course I see him a lot”

“And I’ him At all I like this …” Her spoon scrapes the inside of herover and over with every stir as she considers her words “… this new energy in you You are happy, and I know that But Toby’s got a job He works And what do you do?” She keeps stirring, stirring, stirring “You doodle”

It’s a hot-button word She knohat it does to me when all of my sketches, illustrations, and artwork are reduced to such a condescending word as a “doodle”

“My point,” she goes on, co around the kitchen counter to return to the breakfast table where her laptop sits, “is that your play is over with You didn’t audition for the winter play You’re not involved in a sport What’s taking up your time? What positive and productive project have you coit to you”

“I’n”

“It doesn’t have to be the caet a job”

“No one’s hiring,” I throw right back “It isn’t the summer”

“So what’s your answer then? Continue waiting around every weekend for your boyfriend to finish at work so you two can …?” She sighs, pinches her forehead, then sits at the table “I can’t I’ve said it a hundred different ways Too ht back into your old ways”

I ignore that last part and head for the stairs Myan answer soon, but I ignore that too as I make it to my room, sit at my desk, and stare at the next blank sheet inSaturday afternoon shift today and won’t be off until eight or nine, after which weback here But until then … nothing

I stare at the blank page, bored Maybe ht

I’ on it the next week at school As I sit next to Toby in third period che to pay attention to Mr Schubert’s lecture, I can’t stop wondering why the idea of having a job out here in this town is so objectionable Does a part ofour time until my dad has soain? Aet too attached to Toby or this place?

Is there so with me I can’t even admit to myself …?