The school bus stopped at the end of our driveway, and I got off with heavy steps, as if I was carrying a huge weight on my back. I walked into the house and slammed the door shut.
“Sofia! Why are you slamming the door?” — Mom’s voice came from the kitchen, and my foot froze mid-air before it even touched the first step.
If I didn’t explain myself, I might lose my dessert. I dropped my backpack on the floor and headed to the kitchen — the battlefield.
“What’s going on, sweetheart?” Mom asked with that kind smile that always meant, I’ll help you, no matter what.
I was pretty sure that smile would disappear in a second.
“Today Mrs. O’Neill punished me.”
“Why?” — Her sweet voice turned lemon-sour.
“Because I didn’t follow the ‘proper way of speaking’ during class.”
Mom raised an eyebrow.
“And what exactly did you do?”
“I said the problem on the board was wrong.”
“In the middle of the lesson?”
“Yes! I was just trying to help!”
Mom sighed.
“Sweetie, there’s a way to do things…”
“Yeah, yeah, the usual — ‘way’, ‘order’, ‘rules’!” I cut her off. “Why are there rules for everything? Why can grown-ups bend them, but kids can’t?”
Mom opened her mouth but didn’t say anything. She paused, thinking. I waited, expecting the usual lecture.
“Sometimes… maybe you’re right.”
“For real?” I asked, arms crossed, eyeing her suspiciously.
That felt like the first rule starting to wobble.