Not very much at all, at this point

As I hit "send," James lunged in, locking my arm against his body and wrenching the phone out of my hand. He quickly read what I sent, and while he was reading, his phone buzzed. He laughed cruelly. "They thought it was a joke. You're such a prude they didn't believe a word of it." Except that they do, a little bit. While James is happy to run with it as a joke, coming from him gives her message a little credence.

"Ugh, whatever. Focus on your damn homework. Let's go over cosines again," I say. The rest of the time passes in peace. His phone keeps buzzing on the table, and I can tell he's terribly tempted. It's probably the thought of me taking it again that stops him. That, or the weight of the test is starting to hit him. I study with him for a couple hours until I think he'll at least pass the thing. Well, maybe if it's graded on a curve. When the time is up, I hurry back down stairs, ready to be away from my brother.

In the living room I find my mother, on the couch, watching some police procedural that I never bothered to learn the name of and drinking a martini. I sit next to her, just for some company.

"Well? How's he going to do?" she asks.

I shrug, noncommittal. I'm not gonna get any blame for what he does. She sighs and takes another sip from her martini. I find it strangely curious. I've never been interested in ****. I figure, I don't need to drink to have fun, and there are plenty of other beverages I enjoy. I hear it even tastes bad unless you cover it up with fruit.

"Hey Mom?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I try one of those?"

She considers me, curiously. "You're certainly old enough. And if you don't like it, it'll give me an excuse to drink a second. So sure, just a minute."

I idly watch the show, a little irritated by the **** on screen. I know that this is meant for adults, but they also have reruns at times where kids are at home. My thoughts are mostly on the drink. I know it's silly to be so nervous about it, but what if I get mean? Or sad? I have a friend that cries every time she drinks, what if I'm a sad drunk?

Mom comes back with a martini glass in hand, about half full, and a little metal tooth pick with 3 olives on it. "Okay," she says. "This is a gin martini. It has gin and vermouth in it. If you don't like it, that would mean that you don't like either gin, or vermouth. Not everyone does."

I think that she seems remarkably okay coaching me through my first drink. What if I turn into an alcoholic? I take my first sip. It's... okay. "It's herby, and also it hurts my throat a little."

She laughs, "either that goes away, you don't drink again, you learn to enjoy it, or you buy the really expensive stuff that doesn't burn. But the herbs are on purpose. Gin is made with juniper berries."

I find myself taking another drink. Something about how taboo it was in my head, building it up to be something it's not. I like it. I especially like the olives.