"SYDNEY, HAVE YOU finished unpacking?" My mom yelled from the living room. The apartment had smelt like mothballs now it smelt like vanilla, my mom's favorite scent. I looked around my room. The beige paint on the walls was something I knew I didn't want to bother saving money up to
change it.
Part of the wall was covered with posters of inspirational dancing posters and a bulletin board that had a whiteboard calendar. My small bed twin bed was kind of big (not really) enough for 5'8 height with a light blue cover. The rest of the room contained my stuff, my clothes sorted thoroughly in the closet and my things organized on my small desk and drawer next to my bed. But some of my other things were in a box for the shelf that was coming later this week.
"Yeah I think so." "Then would you mind checking the mail for me downstairs?" She said. I can hear her footsteps coming up the tiny hall she had put pictures of me with or without her on. Most of them were of me at my competitions, dancing my heart out since I was three. My mom opened the door and looked at me, sitting on my bed. She had a small smile on her delicate face. I've been told that I mostly look like her constantly and I see it. Her background from Florida descent made her skin color look almost like a light caramel. But for me I was a bit lighter because my father was of Roman descent.
