Ok, file this one under the "Laura is going to kill me" category, but I just can't take it anymore. So...here's the first few hundred words of the WIP. We won't reveal the title yet, because I think that might result in Laura divorcing me and that would make me sad.
Let us know what you think.
There are few things more humiliating than being dropped off at college by your parents. I guess the good news for me was that I wasn’t planning on staying.
I’ve never been to college before, but I’m assuming the scene at Cornell University on this sweltering August day was pretty standard first day fare. Golf carts zipped around campus. Parents and their awkward sons and daughters argued, glared and sometimes even wept. The lucky freshmen who'd somehow already managed to ditch their shameful forebears were cavorting around with mysterious looking plastic cups, drunk on their newfound freedom.
I was stuck trying to help my dad maneuver a golf cart onto the loading dock without maiming any students or destroying school property. In an unintentional attempt to maximize my embarrassment, he was wearing a large straw hat to protect his head from the sun and he took golf cart maneuverability way too seriously.
“Ahh…like a glove!” Did I mention that my dad also liked to do Jim Carey impersonations? Yeah, just when you thought the straw hat was the most embarrassing thing about him. I felt my cheeks flush and looked around to see if anyone had heard him, but we were flying under the radar. As usual.
“Okay, Sarah, let’s grab the bags with your clothes and we’ll have you settled in no time.” My mom clapped her hands together, resembling a middle-aged cheerleader who’d long ago replaced her pom poms and cheerleading skirts with oversized handbags and mom jeans.
My mom had a secret passion for unpacking and organization. She prided herself on being able to find the perfect place for everything, and in her mind, she had finally figured out somewhere suitable to store her youngest daughter for the next four years. For my mom, Cornell was the equivalent to one of those custom made closet shelves from the Container Store that had a place for everything, including a special drawer for the antique pearls my grandmother handed down to her years ago. Those closet shelves might be expensive, but to my mom, they were worth every penny to keep her pearls safe and protected until she was ready to wear them again.
I grabbed a bag and followed her into my dorm, the model daughter in pleated khaki pants and an ill-fitting button down shirt. Mom approved attire, of course. I had spent the past few months playing the role of the perfect daughter, and I guess I was hoping that this would somehow make it easier for my parents to forgive everything that was coming next.
Unfortunately, wearing awkward mom clothes and participating in excruciating family date nights, didn’t make it any easier for your parents when you disappeared from the posh Ivy League school they paid for. But I guess hindsight is 20/20.