Diffuse

"Brooke, where have you been?" My mother's voice echoed from the kitchen. I coughed furiously as I closed the front door behind me and dropped my backpack next to the door. I could hear her footsteps as she rounded the corner. An apron was tied around her neck and waist, the words Mama Chef written in red on the front. Her hair was thrown into a messy ponytail. Wrinkles were beginning to crease her face.

"I walked home. Missed the bus." I responded. My mother inched toward me, and took a suspicious sniff. Her nose wrinkled.

"What's that smell?" My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach. Please, I thought, please don't let this woman find out that I've been smoking weed.

"Sweat. I did just tell you I walked home." I responding, hoping my voice didn't shake. My mother stared into my eyes intensely and raised an eyebrow.

"Alright, Brooke, but don't let me find out that you've been up to no good." She stated, returning back into the kitchen. I grabbed my backpack, said a silent thank you to God, and said, "I'm not." Then, I practically ran to my room.

My bed creaked loudly as my body plopped onto it. I stared up at the ceiling, reflecting over what the hell just happened. I walked to detention with Devin Cunninghan, who's a total prick. I met a group of kids were sort of like me, but way different, if that makes any sense. And I smoked pot for the first time, almost getting caught by my overly suspicious mother.

I sighed. A shower sounded great.

I left my bedroom and walked into the bathroom, pushing the fish shower curtain to the side and turning the water on hot. It sprayed down from the head and pattered against the tub floor. I could already feel the heat and steam coil through the room. I closed the bathroom door and removed all clothing. I stepped into the tub and closed my eyes as I stood under total bliss.

There's something about showers that soothe me. It's probably the the hot water; the way it collides against your skin and trickles down your body until it reaches the floor. Maybe it's the aroma of the soap. Sweet lavender or fresh mango. It could be the towel. The rhythmic pattern of scrubbing, erasing all the hard work and stress of the day, watching it rinse off and get sucked down the drain.

"BROOKE, DINNER'S READY!"

And that's where my fantasy ends.

After a couple of more minutes in the shower, I stepped out and dried off. Once I turned the faucet off, I gripped my hair and threw it into a bun. While throwing on a sweatshirt and basketball shorts, I noticed my eyes were still a little red. Shit.

I scurried back to my bedroom and grabbed the thing that I hated the most in life: my glasses.

I tucked them behind my ears and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like a nerd.

"BROOKE, COME ON! WE HAVE GUESTS!" My mother shouted again. Guests?! Since when were we having guests? Well, whoever it was was going to have to deal with me in my pajamas for dinner.

"Coming!" I replied, walking out of my bedroom. I sped down the staircase and met my mother in the living room. A lady in a red tube top and jeans was hugging my mother, telling her how great it was to see her again. I just stared at her outfit. She looked like a tramp. The tube top was way too tight. Her breasts practically bulged out of it.

"This is my daughter, Brooke." My mother signaled. The lady looked at me and smiled, reaching her hand out.

"Nice to meet you, Brooke." She said. I smiled back and shook her hand.

"Hannah has a daughter your age, also." My mom said. Hannah nodded her head, and rolled her eyes.

"She's doing something in the car, but she'll be here in a min-"

"Sorry, Mom. I had to ge-" The girl that had walked in was wearing a floral dress, Her hair was tied into a single braid. She turned to face me after closing the door, and she stared at me for a while before smiling a devilish grin.

It was Ava.