Don’t cry, don’t make a fool out of yourself. Seriously, Mimi, get a grip, it’s just grades.
“Mimi? Is that you?”
Mimi peers into the living room, surprised. Her parents are sitting there, and the rest of the room is empty.
“Hi,” she says. “Um, where’s everyone?”
Ma waves a hand vaguely. “Out, upstairs, wherever,” she says. “Come sit, Mimi, okay? We want to talk to you.”
Mimi perches on the two-seater couch, opposite her mother. Ta sits in the armchair, hands on his knees, leaning forward.
Uh-oh.
“You went to gymnastics today?” Ma says, eyes traveling from Mimi’s casual bun to the gym bag over her shoulder.
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