Here goes nothing.
"Theresa! Come here, sweetheart." My mother rushes towards me, her dainty hands clutching onto my arms.
She inspects me, her gaze running over every part of my face and body.
"You've lost a lot of weight. Have you been starving yourself? I told you this modelling thing is dangerous. You never listen."
"Her weight is the least of our worries, Camila," My father cuts in, sending daggers with his gaze in my direction.
"Hey, dad." I respond sheepishly and wave awkwardly.
He's seated on a white sofa with his left leg crossed over his right.
His hair, which is identical in colour to mine, is shorter than I last remembered.
He's wearing a pristine grey and white suit and shiny black boots.
Another thing that hadn't changed.
He was always dressed this way and it was all down to how proud he was of his achievements in the cooking industry.
I guess he liked showing that he was successful so when people asked what he did for a living he could easily answer I'm a world renowned chef and no one would question it.
"Care to explain?" He asks, gesturing for me to sit on the sofa next to him.
I don't argue and sit down. I'm tempted to kick my shoes off and sink into the soft sofa but quickly decide against it.
"It's not what it looks like...' I start rambling, 'I was at a party-"
He chuckles without humour, shaking his head in disapproval already, "Do you know how many stories I've read about you that involve you partying and boozing your life away? This is the final straw."
I play with the thread dangling from the hem of my shirt, "It...it was a mistake. I'm sorry." I offer finally, knowing fine well that my parents are not going to accept my useless excuse.
"I have to say,Theresa, I am ashamed." My mother walks over to stand in front of me, flailing her arms while she's talking.
It's something she does whenever she's in the mood of dwelling into a deep lecture.
"Your father and I were hoping that there was some sort of explanation to all of this chaos but for you to so openly accept it is mind-boggling.
It leaves me to think that you might have tried those horrific drugs more than once."
"No, It was just the once. I promise.
''We have no faith in your promises anymore, Theresa. We gave you a chance but you completely took advantage of our time and money. Your mother and I have decided that you should take a break from modelling.''
Their words fly over me. I stare at them blankly. They stare back. Our gazes lock for what feels like an eternity. Complete silence, apart from Celine's shuffling outside the room, can be heard.
''Wait, you're being serious? You want me to take a break from modelling ?'' I question, incredulously.
''That's exactly what we have decided.''
My father answers. Both my mother and he smile smugly.
I stand up and cross my arms, "No you can't decide anything. I'm nineteen. I have money. I have an apartment. A car. A life. You can't just tell me what I can or can't do!"
''You see this, Camila? It took her less than ten minutes to retort back to her immature self.''
''You are right, Victor. We have definitely made the right decision. A decision that will help you realize the consequences of alcohol and drug use. It will make you a responsible, hardworking individual.''
I fold my arms and huff, rather immaturely I must admit, and reluctantly ask, "What is this decision you've made?''
My father fishes into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out a brochure.
He hands it over to me, "Read it."
My eyes scan over the coloured paper. Hundreds of words hit my vision all at once. I freeze when my gaze settles at the centre of the page.
"No way! There is no freaking way I'm going to this place."
My father sighs, "What did you promise us before you left for New York,Theresa?"
"I promised you I was going to make you proud," I mutter, knowing where he's going with this.
"Consider this your second chance at making us proud. We're not changing our minds. Brainy College will be your home for the next year.''
"If I agree to do this, what do you expect me to do for a whole year? I've completed my studies."
My parents sigh in unison as if they're disappointed at how slow I am in understanding what they're trying to tell me.
"Yes, we're aware of that, Theresa. Your father had the brilliant idea of you working as a teaching assistant at the school."
"I don't see how this will work. There will be students, teachers even, at the college who will recognise me."
There it is again.
The irritating, smug smile on my parents faces returns, ''They won't recognise you because you won't be
you .''
"What do you mean?"
My mother claps her hands together, giggling in excitement, ''You'll be disguised as a man!''
I almost fall to the ground. Then, I pause to take a long minute to work out whether she is joking.
She's not.
Looks like things have changed since I've last been home.
My parents have gone insane.