"Mom, your uniform looks tighter than the flight attendants'." Cecilia paused mid-stride, one manicured hand resting on the doorframe of her teenage daughter’s bedroom. She arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "That’s because it’s tailored, Maya. Not stuffed into a locker like your gym clothes." Maya rolled her eyes but grinned, tossing a crumpled hoodie into the laundry basket. "Whatever. Just saying, Captain Hotshot, the...