I am intimately familiar with the smell of cigarette smoke. It hangs in the air, grasps hold of our clothes, and never lets go. Every morning I drench myself in a fruity mist, but it is a hopeless disguise. At school I pray no one thinks that I'm the one with the horrid habit. But how could they? I'm Amy Whitmore. Senior class president. Captain of the basketball team...

My merits and painted smile are extravagant enough to hide almost all of my family's secrets. Straight A's means no one will know that we didn't have enough money to buy dinner last night because mom blew it all on a pack of Marlboros. Scoring the game-winning basket made it all right that dad forgot my birthday. Yet no matter how hard I try, I just can't seem to smile wide enough to cover up that bitter smell of smoke that has now become a permanent entity of my wardrobe. And I know that the moment I stop smiling, the walls I've built will come crashing down, revealing my family for what it truly is-broken. I am ashamed that I am ashamed of them. I am ashamed that I have become that fruity mist attempting to cover up the smoke. It is a hopeless disguise.