CRASH! The antique victorian stain glass lamp next to our worn tan couch went flying across the room just as my feet came back to the ground after my handstand. I knew what was about to happen. I had been warned a million times not to do handstands in the house because I could get hurt or break something. My mom came flying out of the bathroom sopping wet with just a towel wrapped around her. “Riley, what in the world is going on!”, my mom yelled. She took one look at my face and then her eyes flashed to the shattered colorful glass lying all over the floor. I knew what was about to happen because I had broken things many many times. Before my mom’s mouth even started to open, I knew what she was about to say.

After a very long, and I mean long lecture I’m sent to my room to think about what I did wrong. This was about the third time I was sent to my room that week; it wasn’t because my mom was super strict or anything. It was because I was either talking back as the sassy little spunky kid or not listening as the disobedient rebel. I sat there and just stared at my turquoise walls wondering how much longer I had to be in my room. I was debating whether to call for my mom. Disputing with myself if I should whine about how it was an accident or plead my case by apologize a million times and promise I won’t do it ever again.

As I was sitting there, I saw a book with a fiery red-haired girl in a light blue ball dress peeking out of my flowery robin egg blue Verabradley backpack. At my grade school, we had to go to the library every other Thursday to get a book. I never read my book though because I wouldn’t be caught dead reading. Reading was a punishment that teachers gave students every summer. Reading was something to be tested on comprehension, no one actually read for fun.

It was just sitting there looking at me though, and I was just sitting there looking at it. I slowly opened the book to the first chapter and began to read the first words. My eyes were opened to a whole new world of fantasies. One word turns into a page, that page turns into a chapter, and before I know it a whole hour has gone by. It seemed the words have enchanted me and put me under their wonderful relaxing spell.

My mom came back to my room wondering why I had been so quiet. A quiet Riley always meant that trouble was brewing. She opened my door and saw me lying on the bottom of my bunk bed reading. She revealed that I could come out of my room, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay with the fiery red haired girl I learned to be named American Singer. I kept reading until the lingering smell of spaghetti and meatballs made its way slowly to my room.

Whenever I got sent to my room, which was a lot, I started to actually read the book I got at the library. I started devouring book after book, entering a new world any chance I could.

Suddenly, the library trips were too far apart. I started getting 2 books, and then three just to keep myself entertained. I was reading before, during, and after school.

This started the joke that my mom needed to take away my books instead of sending me to my room. She would walk to my backpack and pull out whatever book I was reading that week and say “This is mine now”. I always gave her a knowing side smile look because I knew she would never take away my book. It made her happy to see me reading and it made me happy to read. The more I started reading the less time I had to get in trouble. I found myself curled up all comfy with my mom on the couch reading while she sent work emails. My love for reading helped mend our relationship and put me on the right path. To this day when I get in trouble, instead of being upset I find myself laughing when she tries to take my book.