Anne bursts through the front door, arms flailing, backpack flying in one direction, sweatshirt in the other.
“I hate you!” rang through the the house like an alarm trying to wake someone from slumber, directed at everyone, and no one, but most especially at her mother, who walked through the door behind Anne, surveying the carnage, the words still echoing off the wood floor. She can hear as the storm fades to the farthest end of the house and back up the hall towards her. Mom closes the door and waits for the storm to turn back on her.
”I hate you!” Anne yells again. This time she directs all the venom she can muster at her mother. Her face is red, spittle flys from her mouth, as her mom reflects that this isn’t one of her prettier moments.
Anne repeats herself one last time to make sure her point is made. “I hate you!” Then she waits for her mother to respond.
But she doesn’t. Mom waits for what seems like an eternity to Anne. At first, this angers her even more. But slowly the blush recedes and her natural color reappears on her cheeks.
Her mother breaks the silence. “I know you are disappointed, but your dad and I set definite boundaries for you, and you broke them. You cannot have your phone.”
Anne whimpered a half-hearted, “But mom!”
Her mom responded flatly, “No Snapface for you.”
Anne rolls her eyes and sulks away.