TITLE: Sketches from the Ash
I locked my car door. "I'm not going in," I said.
"Sorry, sweetie. Let's go." Mom spoke through a mouthful of bobby pins as she wound her curly dark hair into its knot and pulled a navy blue cloche hat over her forehead.
"Please? Dad said it was authentic."
Mom smiled as she checked her reflection in the rear view mirror. She started taming the curls around her face into ringlets. "Authentic doesn't always mean terrible, Eva."
"It does with Dad. And what's with the hat?"
"Isn't it cute?"
"No. It's weird. It looks too British. From World War II or something."
"Perfect! I picked it up in London on the house-hunting trip."
"Do you really have to wear it to my new school?" My mom was fussy about her looks, but she couldn't settle for jeans and sweaters like normal moms. It was hard enough moving to a new country every couple of years without my mom looking like she was playing dress up.
"I'll let you borrow it tomorrow," Mom said, closing her car door.
"Are you sure this is it?" I hollered through my shut window. I wasn't anxious to go inside with that hat. "It doesn't look like a school!"
"Yes. Come on now, honey. The grounds are lovely, aren't they!"
Mom was crazy. The place looked more like a poor retirement home than an expensive private school.