Though this is supposed to be a vacation, my mom wakes me up the next day before noon. “You need some color in your cheeks,” she says.
Grumbling, I stumble out of the cabin in the sweat pants and T-shirt I slept in. I haven’t showered yet and my hair’s still a bit mussed from sleep, but the dining hall closes in fifteen minutes. I have to go now if I want a bite to eat, or else wait for them to reopen at lunch.
She follows me out, calling, “Get some breakfast, then go swimming or something. Enjoy yourself.”
As if I’m five. “Go away,” I mutter, but not loud enough for her to hear.
In the dining hall, the buffet is still open, thank God. This must be the best time to come—most everyone else has eaten, so there’s no crowd, but the food is still fresh. Pans of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausag
