Shana
The minute I get home, I regret walking through the door. My mom isn’t drunk tonight, but she is in a terrible mood.
“What do you mean you’re going on a ski trip with school? Who is paying for that?!”
“The school is,” I say and sigh heavily while taking off my shoes. My mom is standing in the hallway, looking at me like I’m a pest with her delicate arms folded over her chest.
She actually did her hair and makeup today. Silver earrings are gleaming in the light from the lamp, and her blonde hair has been cut short by her hairstylist. She has one that she frequently visits while I do everything myself. My brown hair looks like a bird’s nest.
“The school is paying?”
“Yes,” I repeat for the billionth time, and then, only because Vincent already made me irritated, I add. “I’m att
