The First

Simone

"Damn it, Simone. You never rinse your dishes," Jamie said and began scrubbing.

Simone flinched at the sound of her voice. Jamie was in a bad mood again. It often seemed to be the case these days. Simone knew that it was only a matter of time before Jamie would blow up. What would it be this time? Did she not feel appreciated or respected? That was a common theme in their house.

Simone turned her attention back to the letter. She held it in both hands, examining it closely. It was handwritten on parchment and directed to Simone, congratulating her on her acceptance to the University of Special Talents.

Simone stared at the letter confused. She had never applied to the school. She grabbed the envelope off the table and turned it over. No return address. How strange. University of Special Talents? She hadn't even heard of it.

At the bottom of the letter, there was a signature: Anita Ran, Dean of Admissions.

"Dean of Admissions," she said to herself. This must be a mistake.

"Did you hear me?" Jamie said from the kitchen. She grabbed a towel from the counter and ran it over a wet dish and then crammed the dish into the cabinet.

The clinking of glass made Simone cringe. Simone turned to face Jamie and rested her head in between her hands. What could she say to make this better?

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

Jamie peeled off her gloves and rest them on the edge of the sink.

"Honestly, it's like I am the only one who cleans up around here."

Not in the least surprised by her reaction, Simone ignored the comment and turned to face the television. She kicked her feet onto the coffee table and leaned back into the couch.

Government agents hone in on what might be a new terrorist cell in the center of Manhattan. Last Friday, the bodies of two New York City police officers were found along with presumed plans of a terrorist attack. New York citizens wonder what this means for their city.

Over the television's drone, Simone could hear Jamie tossing silverware into the cabinet. The sound of metal on metal echoed loudly from the kitchen.

Simone picked up the remote control and turned off the television. She glanced down at the letter. Her mother had to have something to do with this, she thought. Someone had to have applied to the school. But why? Was her mother trying to get rid of her? Maybe this wasn't just another one of her mood swings. Maybe this time she really was fed up. Or maybe they were moving again. The thought made Simone sad and afraid. She wasn't ready to leave her home. Simone had learned that the world was a scary place at an early age.

Jamie walked into the living room and sat down on the sofa and exhaled dramatically.

Simone crossed her arms in front of her chest and positioned her body away from Jamie. What kind of mother tries to get rid of her own daughter? Yes, they had their rough patches, but who didn't. Things weren't that bad between them.

Jamie fidgeted with the corner of a throw pillow. She shifted her body towards Simone.

"I didn't mean to snap at you," Jamie said. "I'm just sick of constantly cleaning up this place. I know it's not just you. I'm not perfectly clean either."

Simone thought about all the times she had to clean up after one of Jamie's art projects. "How ironic," she thought. Jamie and the word clean did not exist in the same vocabulary. Jamie was an artist and a rather messy one at that. It wasn't uncommon for dozens of half finished canvases to lay scattered around the house, while buckets of dirty paint water and brushes littered every surface.