This takes place roughly two days after this incident. My mom and I are in the car; she is driving, and I am in the passenger seat.
“Did you see your AP Psychology grade?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“You have a 99%,” she says,” I bet you’re at the top of the class.”
“Teachers love students who work hard,” she goes on,” I’m sure it brings your teacher great happiness to have a student who works as hard as you do.”
I nod. Usually, when I’m with my mom, I don’t speak. Not because I’m afraid, though that is the case some times, but because that’s just how it is. She talks. I listen.
“I saw some people on the red carpet,” she says. I assume she is referring to the Hollywood stars.
“They wear black pants with white shirts like you wanted,” she says,” when I saw them, I thought, maybe you do have some fashion sense.”
The infamous black pants. Perhaps I will post a picture of me wearing them.
the quiet voice 