School Days

Marty looked at her daughter, brows furrowed in concentration. “Friday is the interview at Smithsville. We need to do something creative, something outstanding to make sure you are noticed. Something different. You’re on the short list now, but that’s not enough. What are you wearing? You need to wear that suit from your cousins first communion, that will work. Or perhaps you should dress as one of the schools founding fathers, or mothers, I suppose would be more appropriate. A presentation, we can do a presentation of sorts, a history of the life of type of thing. And intertwine it with the history of the school; show how well you fit in. We’ll arrive with coffee for everyone. Oh, but what if some don’t like coffee? Maybe hot chocolate, or individual chocolates for the interview team. Chocolates with your name written in butter-cream icing. And your grade-point average.”

Marty paused to take a breath and her daughter jumped in, “Mom. Stop. Now. Dad, help me. Say something,” she pleaded.

“Honey, you don’t need my help at all. You’re a smart cookie, you know what to do.”

“Perfect. Cookies. We’ll take cookies,” Marty continued.

“Mom. Enough. Hello? Earth to mom. Or what used to be my mom.”

Her tone started Marty into silence.

“Mom, what’s wrong with just me being me? I got this far that way. I have perfect marks, I do volunteer work; always have. I tutor young kids, and I can even do this interview in English, Spanish, or French. Why do I need to be something or someone else?”

Marty stared at her growing-up-to-fast daughter not quite sure what to say. She nodded as she worked to hold back the tears. “You’re right.”

“But I kinda like the presentation idea; you want to help me with it?”