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Having survived through the last week of school before Christmas break and arriving at the night before I leave, I realize that what initially fueled me to say yes to my internship, i.e. my hatred for Celeste's bullshit, has since worn off and I officially feel as though I have no weapon to march into battle with.

Surprisingly, I'm not mad at her for making me into the High School Whore.

I'm not mad at her for peeing on her territory that is Gene Devoney.

I'm just isolated. The guys at school think they can take from me and the girls love to hate me. Everything feels like a feeding frenzy and I'm the one being eaten. 

I'm not mad. Being mad requires energy that I don't have. In fact, I don't really feel anything at all.

I almost think that's worse.

"Knock, knock!" My mom says, coming into my room after tucking Brennan into bed. "You all ready to go tomorrow?" she smiles and I just shrug as I continue to stuff my clothes in my suitcase. She walks up to me and puts a hand on either shoulder, "You, Ivy Clawson, are going to bake incredible things there. I just know it." I smile because I know she's right.

Baking is the only thing that makes sense to me. The measurements, the precision. I know you're thinking that I'm probably good at math too, right? Well you're wrong. I am shit at math. I can't feel the weight and texture of a math problem in my hand. I can't whisk air into a parabola and make it pillowy. Sure, there's precision in math, but there is life in baking something. There is life in watching raw ingredients go into an oven and rise.

"Deb will be here tomorrow morning to pick you up."

"What?!" I exclaim, "Why aren't you taking me?" This is the first time my mom has mentioned this.

"I want to baby, but the flu is going around at Brennan's daycare, so we are keeping him home for a couple of days."

"I took him to daycare just the other day and all the kids seemed fine! Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I'm sorry sweetheart. I wish I could be there."

I give her a hug. No need to lay the guilt on any thicker. I see her shoulders slump and her eyes are starting to look a little glossy. I get the sense that there's something she isn't telling me, but I really don't want to make her feel any worse, so I drop it. She kisses me on the forehead and heads to bed.

As I continue packing, I remember to include the care package that Charlie dropped off for me this morning: chocolate, two new romance novels I've been dying to read, fuzzy socks, a flask filled with my favorite coconut rum, and a joint.

I held up the joint and looked at her. She revealed her devious little grin and said, "For when you're feeling high strung."

I shake my head just thinking about it and stuff it into my suitcase anyways. 

I sit on my suitcases to zip them up and get ready for bed. However, when my head finally lands on my pillow, I can't sleep. I just lay here, bug eyed, staring at my ceiling, cursing myself for agreeing to go. What the hell am I doing?

Eventually morning comes and I can practically feel the deep set rings around my eyes that I'm sure are really complimenting the heavy bags that have formed as well. My curly hair springing and boinging in every which way.

I step out of my room into the kitchen where my mom is already making breakfast. She takes one look at me, and her mouth forms a perfect "o" shape, "Yikes. Sleep okay?" A small chuckle escapes and she tries to cover her mouth with her hand, to prevent more from leaking out.

          

I glare at her jokingly, "Can't you tell?". We both chuckle now and she hands me a mug full of coffee with the jug of creamer she knows I like to dump in.

"Are you nervous?" she asks me. She doesn't look concerned, just curious. I think that's one of the reasons she's so easy to talk to.

"A little."

"Are you nervous you won't fit in?" I recoil a little and nod, staring into my clouded coffee.

My mom grabs my hand and gives me a reassuring smile, but as soon as she begins to say something, there's a knock on the door.

"That's probably Aunt Deb. I'll go get it." I say and open the door.

"Petals! Ready to blow this popcicle stand?" Deb comes booming in with her infectious energy. I just smile and nod. She can be a little much, but she's family.

She goes to grab one of my suitcases so we can load her car and dramatically heaves it off the ground, "Geez Ivy, got a dead body in here?" I roll my eyes.

Brennan is still sleeping, so I go in his room and give him a little hug and a kiss on the forehead. "Love you, kid. I'll see you in a few weeks."

He stirs, "I love you Sissy." and rolls back to sleep. I cover him up with more of his favorite blankets and then close his door, letting him return to his sweet dreams.

My mom walks us out to Deb's car and gives us both huge hugs.

"You text or call me if you need anything, promise? I will be there in a heartbeat, you know I will." her eyes begin to tear up and then she tucks a small asiatic lily in my thick, messy braid "For good fortune" she smiles, and then gives me another tight hug.

The car ride is a couple of hours long, but it feels like a couple of minutes. I find it darkly humourous how the second we want time to slow down, it speeds up and the second we want it to speed up well... you know... it   s l o w s   d o w n.

It's nice to get away from the daily bustle of Seattle for a bit. The trees along the roads are evergreen and instead of the frenetic panting of the city, everything out here feels like one deep, intoxicating breath. I don't have much to say during the car ride, but when I look over at Deb, it appears that she doesn't either.

The manor is about eight miles outside of Leavenworth, and when we arrive to the gate, we enter in the passcode to call the Gate Operator, where I have to tell him my name, my birthday, and a password they emailed me this morning to ensure that I am who I say I am. He apologizes for the inconvenience, but assures us these measures were only for security enhancement purposes. Shit, they are intense. 

We drive up the dark ribbon of driveway, through more beautiful trees and it begins to snow, light airy flakes. We continue on for about five minutes, when I hear Deb mumble something under her breath. I turn to her confused, "What was that?"

"Oh nothing," she laughs, "You know how I talk to myself sometimes."

I chuckle too, but I'm still confused, "I do know that about you, but it sounded like you said 'this driveway is longer than I remember'. Have you been here before?"

She laughs, but it's strained, "Oh right. Well, years ago, before this conference started, they used to do tours of Warrenston Manor, since it's so well known. I came here once with your mom to do the tour."

"Huh." I say, "she never mentioned that to me."

We keep on in silence.

When we make it through the clearing of trees, what lay before is, is the most stunning, immaculate, work of architecture that I have ever had the privilege of laying my eyes on, which is saying something coming from a Seattle kid.

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