After New Year's life goes back to normal. Which, for me, means hectic and crazy and, lately, filled with a hormonal mother. She seems to have levelled out a bit, but maybe that's only for me. Dad still seems to be able to push her buttons without meaning to.

My 18th birthday is coming up in February. It makes me feel like I have to push myself and open the letter. It's going to change everything, one way or another.

Finally, one day I can't stand it. It's been hiding under books on my desk since Axel found it. He's asked me about it twice, but I told him I hadn't opened it and he asked me to promise to tell him when I did.

It's late. Past midnight. I should really be asleep so I'm not a zombie during my two exams tomorrow. But this is eating at me. I want to know and don't want to know. It's tug-o-war. I sit at my desk and dig out the letter. I can't believe Mom or Dad didn't bring the mail in that day. Unbelievable. Although I can't decide if that's good or bad.

Anyway, I hold the envelope, running the smooth paper between my fingers until I get up and jump onto my bed, pushing backwards until I'm against the wall, cross-legged.

"Alright," I sigh, whispering to Nigel. "You ready for this, buddy?"

He replies with a loud snore.

"Me too, man," I sigh. "Me too."

I slip my finger into one end and drag it against, lifting the seal. I swallow hard, pulling the papers out. The familiar logo at the top makes me start to chew my lip. This is one of those things I wanted, but let go of very quickly. After Jamie, I was definitely broken and basically needed Mom and Dad to be my crutches. But even before that, the idea of this life terrified me. But things have changed. I have changed.

I read, my eyes taking in the letter in seconds. Pleased to inform you... Accepted.

I smile. The fear in my stomach is mashed in with excitement. But I smiled first. That was my first reaction. I've been afraid that I wouldn't know what I wanted, or that I'd still be too afraid to make this kind of leap. But right now, I know I want this. I know I can do this. And I know that I have to do this. The fact that it scares me this much only strengthens that fact and makes me want to push it further.


The next morning I'm terrible at hiding my anxious excitement. My parents are going to flip out. Mom even more so, because she's already riding the crazy train everyday. I barely hear them when they talk at the breakfast table.

"Kati," Mom says, louder than usual.

I startle, looking up at her. "What?"

She looks confused. "I asked if you were comin' to the practice after school."

"Oh," I mumble, rubbing my forehead. "Um, probably. Yeah."

I get up and grab my bag.

"Baby," she starts.

"I gotta run," I interrupt. "Two big tests today."

I give them a small smile, a quick kiss on the cheek, and I hurry out the door before Mom can finish another sentence that starts with a term of endearment.


Axel finds me on the grass in the quad. My physiology text is open on my lap, but I haven't read or remembered one word.

"Hey you," he grins, sitting down and wrapping his arms around me.

"Hey," I reply softly, smiling at him.

"What's up?" His forehead creases.

I take a breath. I promised I'd tell him.

"I opened the letter," I reply, squinting in the sun and then looking away from him, into the grass.

He's quiet, and when I look up to see his face, his eyes are full of questions and, somehow, answers.

"So what's our plan?"

It's immediate. He wouldn't think of life any other way. I give him a small smile.

"I don't know," I shrug.

"K," he says, giving me a look, telling me to go on...tell him.

"I got in," I shrug, smiling at him again, glad to finally tell someone and be able to smile about it.

Axel's face breaks into a smile and he pulls me against him, squeezing me tightly.

"Is there anything you can't do?" he says into my ear.

"Well, I got a B in that sewing class they made us take in junior high," I reply.

He laughs.

"So what now? When are you gonna tell the Docs?"

I shake my head slowly. "I don't know. There's no good time at this point. Right now, Mom's crazy and pregnant. Then she's going to be crazy and newly unpregnant. That's not even a word. Whatever."

I exhale, getting flustered.

"You just gotta do it, baby," he says gently. "This is huge. It's your life. Your future. You can't base it on other people. Not even me. But I'll do whatever you want. Whatever you need."

I kiss him, grateful.

"Yeah," I nod thoughtfully. "I guess I just have to do it. Get it over with."

"I'll be there if you want," he offers.

"No," I shake my head. "Thank you. But I have to do this alone. Especially because of what the aftermath is going to entail."

He nods, knowing.

I check my phone and realize I'm almost late for my test. With a kiss and a promise to meet for lunch, I hurry off.


I don't go to the practice after school. I tell Mom I have too much studying. But I can't study anyways because I feel like I'm about to throw up. Constantly. My stomach is just churning like that's its job.

When the door opens and I hear both of them talking, it flops over completely.

"It'll be ready," Dad says. "I promise."

"Well what are we gonna do with all of that stuff?" Mom replies. "It just sits in there. That room is like a closet for me and Kati."

"Which is crazy," Dad chuckles. "It's small, but it's still a bedroom. A crib will fit fine in there."

They see me and smile.

"Hey baby," Mom passes me, kissing my cheek and then dropping her bag on a chair. "How was school? How'd your tests go?"

"Good," I reply, as Dad kisses my forehead. "No worries about either of them."

"'Course not," Mom grins at me.

Dad's carrying take-out bags, and he beings to unload them and get plates out. The smell of it is making me sick.

"You okay?" Mom says, frowning as she walks over to me, placing her hand on her forehead. "You're lookin' mighty pale."

I swallow. I can't delay this. It's too big.

"I, um...I have some news," I say, glancing at my fingernails and then back at them.

Dad sets the plates on the table and sits down, helping Mom down into another chair. Their full attention on me. Which is part of the problem.

"What is it?" Mom asks, already worried.

She probably thinks I'm about to tell her I'm pregnant.

Wordlessly, I take the letter out from under my textbook. I'm a coward, because this is the only way I can do this. I'm making the letter do the talking. I slide it diagonally across the table, to where they're sitting.

I watch their faces as they lean over and begin to read. Mom's face turns red, which makes my stomach churn again. Dad's face is a mix between pride and concern. When Mom looks up at me, her eyes wide and serious, I want to crawl under the table and pretend they can't see me. But I'm not four anymore; I realized a long time ago that thinking she can't see me, physically or otherwise, is useless. She stares at me and I can recognize everything in her eyes. Fear. Anger. Shock. Confusion. But still, somehow, pride. It's just buried beneath all the others.

I breathe, swallow hard, and keep her gaze, trying to tell her my side of things with my eyes. Maybe she gets it. I dunno. The only emotions that rise up are the ones that hurt the most.

"Since when are you interested in going to Harvard?" she bites.

"It's not just Harvard, Mom," I reply quietly. "It's the top medical school in the country."

"I know what it is," she retorts. "And you are not moving to Massachusetts."

She's furious. A furious Charlotte is no good for anybody. I look to Dad, but he's still a little speechless.

"What is suddenly so wrong about UCLA?" Mom demands.

I know why it's anger that's coming out, but it still doesn't make this easier to deal with.

"Nothing's wrong with it," I reply. "What's wrong with Harvard?"

"Well it's on the other side of the country, for starters," she snaps.

"What else?" I ask.

She has nothing else, but she doesn't falter.

"You're 17 years old, Kati," she almost yells, her eyes on fire. "I will not send my only child off to live by herself in some strange city on the other side of the continent."

I hold up a finger. "First of all, I'll be 18 in three weeks. Second of all…"

I stop here. I need to make this come out soft enough.

"It's not your decision, Mom," I finally say.

Anyone except Dad or I would be terrified of the look that comes into her eyes. I don't like it, but I'm about to tuck and run.

"You are my child," she says angrily. "It is absolutely my decision!"

I sigh, looking to Dad.

"Dad," I say, raising my brow.

He holds up his hands and then clasps them together.

"I don't know what to say, honey," he replies gently, wanting to keep Mom calm and not say the wrong thing to me. "I mean, this is amazing. Of course you could get into any school you wanted, and we are so proud of you. It's just…sweetheart, it's really far away. Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Cooper," Mom butts in, staring at him in shock. "Don't go talkin' about it as though it's a possibility. This is not up for discussion. She is stayin' here, she's goin' to UCLA, and that's the end of it."

She gets up, furious.

"No, it's not," I say, my voice hardening. "Just because you don't like it doesn't mean it's the end of it. This isn't about you, Mom. This is about me. My life. My future."

"We are a family," she retorts. "What concerns one of us, concerns all of us. And you are stayin' here, with your family."

"You didn't," I shoot out, but wish I hadn't.

She stares at me. "No. I didn't. But I also didn't have a mama that loved me more than anything else in this world, or a daddy that would try to stop me. Luckily for you, your mama cares about your well-being and where you are and who you're with."

"Well what if my well-being means taking a chance like this? What if this is what would make me happiest? You have got to stop treating me like I'm still nine years old! I'm not a little girl anymore! And don't shoot back at me with something about me always being your little girl; I get that. Maybe not the way that you do, because I'm not the mother here, but I still see what you're saying. But none of that changes the fact that I don't need you every second of every day. I don't need you to make my decisions for me. I've been able to do that for a long time, and you've always been the one pushing for me to be that way. Independent. Strong. Like you."

This is what I didn't want to happen. I didn't want to have to say those words...don't need you...because they're like lashes of a whip against her skin.

Dad has one hand on Mom's wrist and the other held out towards me, like he's trying to hold back the anger that's erupted.

"I said. No." She squeezes the words through clenched teeth.

"It doesn't matter," I say, angry. I stand up, pushing the chair away from me. "It doesn't matter what you say. This is my life. It's my decision. It's my future. And whether you like it or not, I'm going."

I can feel my face heat up from the force of the anger pulsating through me. Our stare, locked together, doesn't falter. We're both furious and Dad keeps trying to calm both of us down, but I can't sit here. I can't sit here and feel this angry, and I definitely can't sit here and listen to her tell me what to do or say or eat or think. My eyelids slowly close, halfway, and I shake my head, turning away from her. I grab my bag from the table near the coat rack.

"Do not walk away from me," Mom says loudly.

I spin around and meet her steely gaze, and when I raise one eyebrow at her, I see a look in her eyes that I've never seen before. I can't even describe it. It's like she's just seen something she's never seen before, and it scares her in some way. Her lips part, but she doesn't say anything, and I turn away from her and Dad, leaving the house.


I drive without direction. I take random turns and end up in a neighbourhood I haven't been in since I was little and one of the girls in my class lived here. I should go to Axel's, but I don't want to talk about this anymore. This isn't something that is up for discussion. This isn't some kind of vote. This is what I'm doing. I don't even know where to go. Addison would just get all motherly on me and start half agreeing with Mom and half trying to side with me and I'd just get irritated. Violet would be more open, but I don't want to be around Lucas when I'm this angry. I realize, with surprise, that there's no one that I want to call right now. There's no one I want to cry to or vent to. No one could make me feel better at this point. Except…Mom. She could. But she won't. She won't deflate for a long time. I've just dropped a bomb at our house and now I have to live in the wreckage like this is some kind of war. Like this is that movie The Pianist, and I'm Adrien Brody and she's…well, no. That would be going a bit far. I'm not about to compare my mother to a Nazi. I've just been watching too many documentaries. I shake my head, trying to just focus on driving. The sun is starting to set and it's inappropriately beautiful, given the situation and the anger coursing through me.

My phone buzzes and it's Mom. Obviously I let it go to voicemail. It rings again…Mom. Then Dad. Then Amelia.

Makes sense, I think to myself. They probably called her to see if I already had.

I ignore the phone, even when a text from Dad comes in, asking me to please come home or at least let them know I'm alright.

"Alright... Yeah," I mutter to myself. "I'm fucking fantastic."