Until the Moon Burns

“Just a dream. Don’t get freaked out, it’s because you miss her,” I told myself.
I got off the sofa and went to have a look around. It seemed decent enough, the wooden flooring wasn’t scratched, the walls were painted a suitable cream colour, and the kitchen was big enough for me to cook in, with a marble island extending from the right hand wall. The downstairs bathroom was a bit small, but it could be lived with.
The stairs were carpeted with a pale cream carpet and I sighed at all the cleaning that would take. The upstairs bathroom was twice the size of our old, with white walls and a power shower. The white sink was below a large mirror, with ornate silver taps I liked. I didn’t check out my mother’s room, as I decided that was going to be a spare room for guests or parties or whatever, and the third and final bedroom, which was the smallest, would be turned into a study, which was perfect for my end of year exams that would be coming up.
I didn’t immediately like my own bedroom. Naturally, I had won the argument for the largest, as we both knew my mother would be gone before long. The walls were painted a pale blue, with a small false chandelier in the centre of the white ceiling. The windows were nearly full-length, which I really didn’t like, but I could cope. The bed was a double sized bed, and I did appreciate that, I was a bad sleeper.
A wardrobe was on the opposite side to my bed, white and delicately designed. I slid it back and forth, it creaked. Not a lot, but enough to bother me. I had a can of oil in my bag, so I resolved to find it later before I went to bed.
I jogged downstairs to find my mother on the internet, probably looking up travel prices.
“What are you doing?” I called from the kitchen as I waited for the kettle to boil.
“Looking up prices.”
I heard her shut her laptop and come into the kitchen.
“Making me a cup of tea?” She grinned, sitting on the side. Honestly, she really wasn’t ready to be a mother.
“I wasn’t. Making dinner?” I asked, raising an eyebrow and clucking my tongue.
“I wasn’t. Good girl.” She laughed, jumping down. She paused before leaving, looking over her shoulder and then facing me. “You don’t mind, do you? Only, I feel like you do too much around here.”
I shrugged. “Who else is going to do it? You?” I grinned.
“I know, I know. Do I leave you alone too much? I could stay here more often if you want?” She offered.
She was going somewhere, and it was expensive. I clucked my tongue.
“Then you wouldn’t be happy. You may as well go, Mum. Get out from under my feet,” I smiled as the kettle clicked off to tell me the water was boiled.
She clipped me round the back of my head softly and laughed. I made her the tea and myself a hot chocolate, because I didn’t like tea.
We ate our meal in silence that night; I ordered a takeaway because I was too tired to cook.
“That was nice,” my mother commented as she cleared the papers away back into the carrier bag with a dancing fish on it.
I just nodded, already exhausted. I was both dreading and optimistic about my first day of school tomorrow, the usual dramas-which group would I fit into? Would they like me? What were the teachers like?
I was pretty certain I would get by easily in the classes, because I studied independently a lot, but that was still a concern. What if they were smarter than me and I looked like an idiot? What if they hated me because I was clever? I went to bed early that night, my clothes prepared, a nice grey t-shirt and a checked shirt and some jeans that went well with the t-shirt.