I smoothed by brunette hair and picked up my dessert spoon. I took a bite of the white chocolate raspberry cheesecake in front of me. It was delicious, as expected. Any less would probably get the chef fired. We were at my parent's friend's house for a new year's party. Except it wasn't much fun. Most of the families here, including us, were rich. You would think I would be happy with that. And I was, it's just ... all the girls were expected to be proper ladies. Whenever I expressed my dreams of traveling the word, they were shut down. I was expected to marry a rich man and settle down. No negotiating. I waited until I was finished chewing then told the host to give my compliments to the chef. The politest thing to do. There was only one family here that was not rich. They were only invited because they were the host's neighbors, and it would only be polite to invite them. Everyone mostly ignored them though. Everyone was seated around a large dining table, eating the first dessert course. Across from me, was seated a boy from the less rich family. He had dark curly brown hair and a wide smile which displayed his dimples, despite being completely out of place with his regular t-shirt and jeans among our suits and dresses. His glance wandered to me and his smile widened. I smiled back. My mother must have noticed, because she nudged me, and everything about her look said not to associate with that family. My smile faded, and I ignored the boy for the rest of dinner. After dinner, I sat on the porch out front, feeling the breeze blow on my face. The boy approached. I said nothing. He sat down quietly next to me. We sat in silence for a moment. Then the boy smirked at me.

"It must have hurt when you fell from heaven. "He said smugly. I snorted. Then quickly straightened my posture and smoothed my dress.

"That's extremely corny," I said. The boy grinned, revealing his dimples. He extended his hand. I took it.

"Max," he offered.

"Mia."

"Mia," he said pulling out a phone, "I hope you wouldn't mind lending me your number?"

A year passes, and Max and I talk on the phone every day. He showers me with cheesy pick-up lines, and gifts he ships over. One day, when we're on the phone, he whispers, "Let's run away together." I hesitate. "My mother will never approve."

"Your mom doesn't have to know. We could travel the world together. Just imagine." I closed my eyes, and I did. It was amazing. Traveling the world has always been my dream, and with Max by my side? Even better. But my mom had to know. I couldn't just leave her. So, the next day, I gathered all the courage I had and marched into the kitchen.

"Mother," I said, "do you remember the New Years party we went to at the Prescott's? Remember their neighbors? And that boy, named Max?"

My mother lifted her head and stared at ceiling, as if trying to recall.

"Yes, I believe I do remember. Why?" I took a deep breath.

"Because," I said, "I'm going with Max to travel the world. I love him, and I love traveling. It's my dream. Being with him is my dream."

My mother dropped the glass she was holding. It hit the ground, shattering. I tried not to flinch.

"Excuse me?" my mother chuckled, "you're not going anywhere." I stood tall.

"I'm eighteen, mother. I can make those decisions for myself." My mother stood, frozen.

"I'm going to pack my bags, and then I'm going over to Max's," I took a breath, "hopefully I'll see you again, mother." I left to pack my bags. When I returned, my mother was still in the same spot, wearing an expression that seemed all to calm.

"The ladies in our family," she whispered, "are supposed to be perfect. They are not supposed to love poor people and go wherever they please." I strode past her and flung open the door to our mansion. I stared at the ground, in disbelief that I was about to do this. I took a deep breath and stepped outside. I glanced back at my mother one last time.

"Believe or not, mother," I said, "I want to be complete, not perfect."