“Yes, because you’re going to commit fully to her itinerary and amaze her with your dramatic improvement in Chinese when you come back afterward,” my mom says, sounding far more confident than I deserve. There’s a distant look in her eyes, like she’s already fast-forwarded into the future, one where I’m probably reciting ancient poetry and pouring tea for my aunt while she smiles at me in glowing approval, the disastrous wedding forgotten behind us. “Plus, a program like this will look amazing on your college applications, which I know are currently a little … underdeveloped.”

“Underdeveloped,” I repeat under my breath. That’s a nice way of putting it. I’m willing to bet that I’m our career counselor’s worst headache. At our last meeting, she stressed that my grades are abysmal, my attendance record even worse, and that the last time I signed up for an extracurricular, it was to serve lemonade at a charity event for iguanas.

“… even though it’s last minute, one of the original participating students canceled, so there’s a spot open for you, and I snagged it just in time,” my mom is saying. She smiles. “Can you believe how perfectly everything’s worked out?”

No. I truly can’t believe this.

“Don’t worry,” she says, misinterpreting my silence. “You won’t have to miss the start of school. You’ll be leaving in a week, and you’ll be back just before your break ends.”

“Wait. But—” I drag a hand through my hair, my mind struggling to keep up. “But you can’t just send me halfway across the world on some trip. I—I had plans for this summer—”

Her smile vanishes at once. “You haven’t moved an inch from that couch all day. Not even to drink water.”

“I had plans to rest,” I elaborate.

“And that’s okay.” She tucks a strand of her long, always-straight hair behind her ear. “Your dad and I have been saying that you need a good, long break. But you don’t seem well rested. Do you feel like you’ve been resting?”

The problem is, I don’t.

After I officially parted ways with my modeling agency last month, I imagined sleeping for fifteen hours straight, without having to worry about going to the gym or rushing in for hair and makeup or stressing over how my photos will turn out, and then waking up refreshed. Feeling like a proper person again. Dedicating time to my hobbies.

Instead, when I woke up, I felt an exhaustion so heavy and bone-deep I feared it would crush me. And as it turns out, I don’t have any hobbies. I never had a chance or reason to discover other interests, because modeling was an all-consuming force, coloring in every single aspect of my life, and now that it’s gone, there’s only blank white space.

Maybe my mom’s right.