I'm making my Y2K teenage bedroom dreams come true

My mom and fourteen-year-old me had a silent agreement: no matter how loud the argument got, or how dramatic I was, or how impatient she grew with my teenage shenanigans, my room was my personal space. It just so happened that I wasn’t a particularly adventurous teenager, so I never had to hide booze or weed or even a crumpled cigarette pack under my be…