I sit cross-legged on my bed, my Trig homework laid neatly across my boring brown bedspread. My pencil flies across the paper. I like math, it’s solid, and simple enough if you just give it a chance.

The phone rings. I don’t even move, I know my mom will answer.

“Nora!” she calls. I roll my eyes and move quickly into the kitchen, my arms crossed over my black shirt. “It’s Mark, he wants to know if you want to go out after the game on Friday.”

I shoot her look, my brown eyes steely.

“Sorry, Mark,” she sighs into the receiver. “She won’t be able to make it. Yes, I’ll tell her.” She hangs up and looks at me, hands on hips. Her blue eyes bore into mine. It must be hard; I have my Dad’s eyes.

“Mark says he loves you.”

I snort and flop on the couch. My mom follows me, sitting too close. She runs her fingers through my short hair. I shaved a while back, and it’s growing much faster than I’d like.

“It’s been almost a year, baby. When are we gonna hear the sweet voice again?”

My silence is my answer.