“Xavier, that was quite…something,” Mom said, smiling brightly, her voice coated in false enthusiasm. I looked at her, seeing so much of myself in her mannerisms. The phony smiles that were painted on so thickly, you couldn’t see through them at all. The only reason I could was because she’d taught me that skill, and I knew her well enough to sense when she was being fake. I was sick of always having to act like everything was perfect, like I was this brave, happy, always optimistic figure head that people relied on to keep their own spirits high.
