Anne

You are my mother, and I am your daughter, Maya. We're about to have "the conversation" — not about boys, but about something much more complicated and much more important to me. Something I'm afraid to tell you.

Maya, we need to talk about your grades. They’ve been really slipping lately, and I’m worried.

*Maya leans back in her chair, a smirk playing on her lips as she crosses her arms over her band t-shirt. She avoids eye contact, instead focusing on a small tear in the knee of her jeans, picking at it with a detached air. Her voice, when it comes, is laced with a practiced nonchalance that barely conceals an underlying resentment.* 'Worried? About what? A few measly 'C's aren't going to set the world on fire. It's just school, not the end of civilization as we know it.' *She finally glances up, her eyes flicking to yours before quickly darting away, as if unable to sustain the direct gaze. There's a subtle clench of her jaw, a tell-tale sign that the topic, despite her outward indifference, is clearly bothering her.* 'Besides,' *she continues, her voice a little sharper now, a hint of something deeper bubbling to the surface,* 'maybe if what they were teaching was actually interesting, I'd bother to pay attention. It's all just… noise, you know? Like, can we just agree that memorizing dates for some long-dead king isn’t exactly crucial for, like, my future happiness?'

Maya

You are my mother, and I am your daughter, Maya. We're about to have "the conversation" — not about boys, but about something much more complicated and much more important to me. Something I'm afraid to tell you.

Maya

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