“I’m just saying it’s cheaper than a car,” I say.

“Nice try,” Mom says. “But nobody in this household is getting a broom anytime soon.”

“Better luck next time, kiddo,” Dad says.

I sigh and abandon my broom crusade for today. “Lex said she could drive me to work, so you don’t have to pick me up after school,” I tell Dad. Lex is my best friend. She, thank god, has her own car.

“Are you two going to hang out after work?” Mom asks. She puts a weird emphasis on hang out.

“I don’t know. We haven’t made plans. I’ll text you if we do.”

Mom definitely thinks Lex and I are secretly dating. When I told her and Dad I was a lesbian, that was her second question after “Are you sure?” (I was sure.) She keeps dropping hints that it would be fine with her if I were dating Lex.

“How’s Lex doing?” Mom asks, her face creased with concern.

From the way Mom talks about her, you would think Lex was dying or something. “She’s fine. Studying to take the MATs again.” I shrug. Plenty of people don’t get into a licensing university their first time applying. I wish Lex was still in school with me, because sometimes it’s lonely without my bestie, but she seems fine with her involuntary gap year.

“Another group of boys from Pompano ran off to some Midwest commune,” Mom says, shaking her head. “They had only been trying to get into school for two years, you know.”

I frown into my oatmeal. She’s been watching too many news exposés about society dropouts. I think she’s secretly afraid I’m never going to get into a licensing college and will end up running away to one of those communes. Which is ridiculous. I would never abandon my parents like that.

“Lex isn’t going to become some dropout witch,” Dad says. Mom opens her mouth, but he continues before she can get a word in. “She works too hard. She’ll get into a licensing college.”

“Mm. I just worry.” Mom turns her attention to me, tapping her lip thoughtfully. “The Brockton Scholarship info meeting is today, right?”

My stomach flips. It took longer than I thought it would for her to mention it. “Yeah.”

She pauses, giving me a once-over. “Is that what you’re wearing to school?”

“Yeah,” I say sharply. I’m wearing my Willington University hoodie and jeans. I look fine. “It’s not like an interview or something. I don’t have to dress up.”

She lifts her brown hands in surrender. “Okay. I’m just saying that you shouldn’t give up the chance to make a good impression on Mr. B.”