I think about Jordi's words. Do I bottle things up, only to let them explode out later? It never really occurred to me before, but maybe she's right. In some ways, I am like an obedient Borg drone, going through the motions of each day, doing as I'm told. But unlike the drones, I have feelings: Fear. Resentment. Desires. All pent up and tamped down in my quest to conform to expectations. But most of all, to avoid Mom's disappointment in me.

"Seth, you okay?"

I didn't realize I'd zoned out. I return my gaze to Jordi. "Yeah. I'm good." I rise from the chair, wanting to escape this discomfort. "I should probably go."

She captures my hand. "I didn't hurt your feelings, did I? Sometimes I talk too much."

The warmth of her palm penetrates my discomfort. She's such a good person. I push a stray curl away from her forehead. It falls back into place. "You said what needed to be said. I've got a lot to think about. Thank you, Jordi. I really do need to get home, though."

She nods and gives my hand a squeeze. "I can give you a ride. It's dark out."

I arch my eyebrows. "On the trailer of your bike?"

She laughs and slaps my arm. "My dad can take us, and we can throw your bike in the back. You biked here, right?"

"Yeah, but that's okay." The thought of getting home sooner rather than later unnerves me a little. "I've got a helmet and a headlight. I'll be fine. The fresh air will do me good." I linger, not wanting to leave, but knowing I have to.

She kisses my cheek and hugs me. "You can do it, Seth. You can face her."

I'm not so sure, but her words bolster me.

After a prolonged goodbye with Jordi and a farewell handshake with her dad, I'm on my way. I refused the ride back because I need time to think about what I'm going to say to Mom. Whatever it is, though, I know she's not going to like it.

The cool night air feels good against my skin. I consider hanging out somewhere until late so I can sneak back in when my parents are asleep, but no, that wouldn't work. Knowing my mom, she'll stay up waiting.

Just stand up to her. You'll be seventeen in a week. You can do this. Jordi said you could. I pump myself up as I pedal, filling my mind with affirmations. Mom is not a monster. She's a person, just like me.

Well, maybe not just like me. She definitely operates on a different wavelength from me.

When I get to the house, I walk around to the back yard, leaning my bike against the wall and closing the gate. I can hear the shouting from here.

My heart sinks.

My parents are at it again.

The back window is open, so I stay in the shadows to listen.

"All I'm saying is, you gotta give the boy some breathing room." Dad's voice. "He's a man now. Treat him like one."

"So he can wind up a dead-end mechanic who sneaks whiskey in the garage?" Mom's voice rises with a nasty edge. "Yeah, I know about that."

"So what? You know why I drink? Because it's the only way I can put up with your endless nagging every fucking day!"

"Language!"

"See what I mean? It's one thing to badger me all the time, but you don't even see what you're doing to our son."

"I've raised him to be smart and successful."

"Because I'm such a disappointment to you, is that it?" Dad's voice drops. "Does it really bother you so much that I'm a mechanic? I wasn't anything different when you married me."

"That's just it. You're exactly the same!" Her voice turns shrill. "You're still working for the same guy!"

"Joe's a good guy. And you've changed. You didn't used to be this hung up on money."

"Because I care about my son's future."

"And I don't? Maybe you should be more concerned about his happiness. Have you seen him this past year?"

"Of course I have. More than you. Straight A's this time."

"Don't you go there," Dad's voice shakes. "I work extra hours to provide for this family. You know that. And good grades don't equal happiness."

I don't want to hear any more of this. Arguing with Mom is a Sisyphean task. Just when you think you're getting somewhere with her, that boulder comes tumbling right back down the hill and she digs in deeper. She always knows best. It doesn't matter what you know or how compelling your argument is. Her opinion outranks everyone else's.

It's a pointless endeavor.

I finger the house key in my pocket. Best to sneak in and avoid them altogether. The back door is out since they're right there, so it has to be the front door. The squeaky front door. Maybe if I open it just a little, I can squeeze through before the hinge reaches the squeak.

I unlock the front door and push a little. So far, so good.

Mom's voice filters through. "Thanks to me, he can be anything he wants to be."

Not that again. I shake my head.

"And what if he wants to be a mechanic?" Dad's voice holds that challenging edge that always stirs up Mom's hackles.

"Now why on earth would he want that?"

I choose that moment to squeeze through the narrow opening.

Creeeak.

I wince. Not skinny enough.

The conversation stops and I soon find two pairs of eyes on me. Mom speaks first. "Nice of you to come home. Where have you been?"

I gulp. "I told you, I had dinner at a friend's house."

"Which friend?" She tilts her head, the way she always does when she's suspicious of something.

I clench my jaw. "Does it matter?"

She presses her lips together. "I suppose not."

My eyebrows go up at her small concession.

"But you should have told me earlier," she continues. "I had already started dinner. I didn't raise you to be rude."

And there it goes. My tiny verbal victory, gone. My shoulders sag as I mumble, "Sorry." I glance at my father, who simply stands there, watching the interaction. Why isn't he defending me now? Why doesn't he tell her to lay off? Sometimes it feels as if he isn't in the house at all.

The speech I rehearsed in my head as I was biking home doesn't seem relevant now. It's like she's forgotten all about this afternoon's argument. She doesn't seem to care about what I'd said, because she's back to scolding me as always.

I was going to apologize for my hurtful words earlier, but I don't see the point now. My whole life has been spent being sorry for one thing or another. It's time for me to cut my losses and escape to my room. "I'll get ready for bed now."

She nods, and I trudge away, annoyed that she thinks her approval is required just to go brush my teeth.

"You see?" I hear Dad hiss. "You make him miserable."

"You think you can do a better job?" she hisses back.

No reply.

I shake my head, wondering if they really think I can't hear them, and shuffle to the bathroom. I study myself in the mirror as I brush my teeth. My skin looks sallow underneath the fluorescent lights. Long nose. Long face, made even longer by the droopiness I feel.

I look just like my dad, minus the mustache. Am I going to end up being walked on by everyone? An unambitious yes man, content with whatever? That's how Mom sees him, right? And she sees the same thing in me.

She has absolutely no clue that, in her quest to prevent me from becoming a loser, she's turned me into a spineless wimp like my father.

I spit into the sink. Spit at my weak resolve. Jordi is wrong. I don't have it in me to stand up to my mother. The best I can do is to stay the course for one more year, and then escape to college.

Which is, if I think about it, exactly what my mother wants me to do.

Ugh it's not so easy to stand one's ground. You know what is easy though? You know where I'm going with this, right? ;)