Colleen Hoover

“So how are you liking Sky?” my mom asks. She’s seated at the kitchen table eating her breakfast and reading the paper. I’m surprised she remembers her name. I only mentioned her once. I shut the refrigerator door and walk to the bar.
“She’s great,” I say. “I like her a lot.”
My mom puts down the paper and cocks her head. “She?” she says with an arched eyebrow. I don’t understand her confusion. I just stare at her until she shakes her head and laughs. “Oh, Jesus,” she says. “You’ve got it bad.”
Still confused. “What do you mean? You asked how I liked Sky and I answered you.”
She’s laughing even harder now. “I said school, Holder. I asked how you were liking school.”
Oh.
Maybe I do have it bad.
“Shut up.” I laugh, embarrassed.
She stops laughing and picks the newspaper up, holding it out in front of her. I grab my drink and my backpack and head toward the door. “Well?” she asks. “How do you like school?”
I roll my eyes at her. “It’s fine,” I say, backing out of the kitchen. “But I like Sky more.”