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Watched Her Get Hit by the Car kind of attention. It definitely made me more popular at school. The cool girls were suddenly interested in me, inviting me to sit at their lunch table so they could ask me all sorts of questions about the accident, like I was some kind of circus freak. Sabrina Montag even lent me her pink fluorescent scrunchie in gym class. Unfortunately, having your mom pass away isn’t exactly the reason you want to be popular, and mostly it made me want to run and hide. Some days I skipped school altogether; it’s not hard to get out of class when your mom just died. The thing is, being home wasn’t any better. It only made me sadder. That’s when my dad decided it was time to move. He told me the bottling plant he worked at in Bennington really needed a new director of operations at their Manchester office, but I overheard him talking to his boss on the phone, begging to be transferred because we needed a change “in light of everything that’s happened.” In other words, my dead mom.
    Sometimes I think it was better when I was invisible at school. My mother was never invisible. She stood out like a supermodel in our small town, always wearing beautiful dresses, with bright red lipstick and long red nails even if she was just running her regular errands, never track suits, like the other moms. She liked to be noticed, looked at, listened to, complimented, and waited on. No one else could get into Giorgio’s, the fanciest Italian restaurant in Bennington, without a reservation
and
have Giorgio himself bring a free bottle of wine to the table. No one else had their groceries carried to their car by the manager of the supermarket like she did. She expected it. I don’t expect it, because I’m not beautiful or special the way she was. It’s okay. I know it.
    My mom wanted to be an actress. She was living in New York City and going to auditions for commercials and soap operas every day before she met my dad. It sounded really exciting. She said once she left Iowa, where she grew up, she never wanted to go back. One night she was out with her friend, another actress, who introduced her to my dad, who was visiting one of his friends in New York City. My mom didn’t really like my dad that much at first. He wasn’t as handsome as the men she usually went out on dates with and he was a little annoying, but he was so in love with her, she finally decided to go out with him. She said being an actress was no way to make money, and that my dad liked taking care of her, treated her really well, and had a good job. I guess he had enough money for both of them, so she went with him to Vermont. My dad tells a whole other story. He says they fell in love the first time they saw each other. I think she always missed her life in New York City. My mom would have been a great actress.
    I’m not really sad to be leaving Bennington. It’s been totally strange living in the house with all of her things for the past four months. My dad tried to pack up as much as possible. He said he’d save her clothing and jewelry in case I wanted them one day. But even with her stuff gone, everything still looks and smells like her. It’s like she’s gone, but she’s not. It’s hard to explain, but in a way, it’s sort of like my dad and I never lived here to begin with. It was her house. It still is. Dad’s never said anything about it, at least not to me, but I think he feels it too. It doesn’t mean I don’t miss her. I do. I guess it comes in and out. Some days I feel relieved. I know that sounds mean, but it’s nice not to worry you’re always disappointing someone. Other days, I’m sad a lot, sometimes from the time I wake up to the time I go to sleep. It’s weird to think I’ll never see her again. I hope I don’t forget her.
    Moving day came faster than I thought. Once you know you’re leaving, it’s hard not to