“So tell me about the writing class, sweetheart,” Mom said. “I feel like I’ve been so busy that we haven’t even had a chance to discuss it yet.”

I filled my mom in on the teacher, the class, the assignment, Sierra’s and my night out, and how things had gone with the other kids from the class.

“It was really good that Sierra was there, because she got us all connected,” I said reluctantly.

“She’s such an outgoing and gregarious kid. It’s a wonderful quality,” said my mom, slicing her chicken.

“Can I be done?” asked Tanner.

He’d eaten six pieces of chicken and exactly no salad.

My mom looked at him and then at the salad, and I could see her deciding whether or not to fight him about vegetables. She wavered and then gave in. “Fine, but take two carrot sticks from the fridge and eat them both. And don’t let me find them in the trash under your desk like last week!”

“Okay, Veggie Police,” said Tanner. Then he slid his plate into the dishwasher and exited.

I looked at my mom. “Are you going to just let him be fresh to you like that?”

My mom was stifling a smile. “Oh, Allie. Why are you so grumpy tonight?”

It bugged me that she found his antics funny. I thought he was just plain rude, and I knew that when I was his age, I’d never have gotten away with what he got away with.

“I’m not grumpy,” I said, looking down and stabbing my salad repeatedly.

My mom wasn’t eating. She sat and watched me struggle with my salad, which made me even more annoyed. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she asked kindly.

Her kind tone penetrated my grumpy shield, and I crumbled into tears. “I’m an introvert!” I wailed.

“What?” my mom was perplexed. I’d started in the middle.

Through my tears I explained about the sixteen personalities, and Sierra’s charm, and my shyness with Colin and, well, everyone else in the world, and how I was doomed to be alone because I was a Logistician, and I wished I were an extrovert. And why hadn’t she forced me to have more playdates when I was little?

My mom stood and grabbed some tissues off the counter, then sat next to me, wrapping her arm warmly and firmly around my shoulders. I bent into her neck and sobbed for a little bit while she patted my shoulder and doled out tissues.

Finally my sobs died out and I lifted my head and blotted my eyes. I blew my nose and cleared my throat.

“Better?” asked my mom with a small smile.

I shook my head.

Her smile turned into a frown as she studied me. “What’s all this about introverts and extroverts and logistics?” she asked.

I sighed and explained about the archetypes and the test and my personality diagnosis.