All American Girl

How will I ever be able to stay true to my own vision, like van Gogh, with someone hovering over my shoulder, telling me what to do?

You can’t appear in front of Middle America dressed all in black. People are going to think you’re a Satan worshiper.

Do you have any idea how humiliating it is for me to have people calling me—all night, they were calling me—going, ‘Hey, isn’t that your sister? What happened to her? Is she in some kind of cult?’”

ucy,” I yelled as awapuhi got in my eyes, and I couldn’t, having only one free hand, get it out. “What are you trying to do to me?”
“Saving you,” Lucy explained. “You ought to be thanking me.”
“Thanking you? For what? Permanently blinding me with Hawaiian ginger extract?”

violating my constitutionally protected right to personal privacy, she just looked at me like, Huh? even though she is fully taking U.S. Government this semester.

Her excuse is that she was looking for her eyelash curler.

Hello. Like I would borrow anything of hers.

And there was me, in the middle. In between. Where I always am.