This whole college application thing had been hard enough—the high school transcripts easy, but the letters of recommendation? Well, there were very few teachers willing to endorse her future in higher education. The essay had been tortuous. What could she say about her unremarkable life? Besides the fact that people were always dragging her to one shrink or another. Then they threw this last question at her, and she was about ready to give up on the whole college endeavor. Anything else we should know?
The cursor blinked on the computer screen. Down the hall, tiny, shrill screams mixed with the roar of the vacuum cleaner. She winced. Her mother was going after the dust bunnies again. The pixie trapped in her mirror sparked wildly for a minute, then collapsed into a fit of giggles when she turned to glare.
She was going to college, if only to leave her mirror and bookshelf behind. As if it had read her mind, the bookshelf creaked. It wasn’t her fault it hated her. After she’d realized that, with the spectacular collapse of all the shelves at once, she’d tried to sell it at their annual yard sale, but her mother made her keep it. Then the thing hated her even more for trying to get rid of it in such an undignified manner. The bookshelf was a snob.
The cursor blinked a little faster. She sighed. What else should they know?
How about the elaborate furniture rearrangement she’d carried out a few years ago so that the dining room chairs and kitchen chairs would stop screaming at each other and she could eat in peace?
Or the time she’d spent coaxing and threatening an infestation of tiny purple goblins out of her mother’s mattress?
Or the fact that her teakettle sang to her every morning (it liked Taylor Swift) and the weird yellow-eyed thing that lived under her bathroom sink had a crush on the fuzzy green thing that lived under her mother’s sink?
Or maybe that she knew the spiders in the attic loved fruit flies and hated ants. Too bitter, apparently.
Or—well, that time she’d accidentally screamed and broken a microscope in biology class because an eye looked back at her from the other end?
Or the salty vocabulary she’d acquired from her mother’s car, whose former owner had been a Marine? Killed in action, the car had informed her mournfully.
She put her fingers back on the keyboard.
Anything else we should know?
I can’t wait to go to college.