“Was everyone wearing hoop skirts?” Mom eyes the hem of my gown. “In five minutes, I can sew that hoop back in for you.”

“No one was wearing hoop skirts, Mom.”

She leans forward on the couch. “What happened, Myla-la?”

I launch into a rare sharing session with my mother. This thing with Lincoln was just too strange. I really need some advice. “Well, there was this thrax boy at the party who–”

“Thrax at the party?” All blood drains from Mom’s face. “There can’t be any thrax at the party.” She races to a nearby table, picking up Zeke’s invitation. “It says right here; the event was for ghouls and demons. Even if they were invited, thrax wouldn’t be within a mile of that place.”

Great. I’ve set off her hair-trigger for worrying. Maybe I can give her some additional information and move onto my question. “I’m telling you, they were at the party. Angels were there too.”

“Angels were there too?!” Mom drops the invite, her hands visibly shaking.

This is not going well. “You do realize you’re repeating everything I say?”

“Angels and thrax.” Mom stumbles backwards until she half-falls onto the couch. “That can’t be right.”

“It’s all good. There’s some kind of alliance going on, I think. Thrax, angels, demons, and ghouls…Everybody’s one big happy family.” I give her a look that says ‘now, can we get on to my question?’

“Those four all in the same room.” Mom slowly shakes her head from side to side. “Did they fight? Did any of them touch you? Hurt you?”

“The thrax boy asked me to dance and–”

Whipping up from the couch, Mom races over. Her hands cup either side of my face. “Do you feel alright?” She stares into my eyes like my head will explode.

“Enough, Mom.” I step back, breaking contact with her. Anger and disappointment churn in my belly. I have so had it with her over-protectiveness about nothing. “Look, I get that I’m all you have. I get that you’re worried about me. But I’d appreciate some female advice on what happened with this boy and you’re not listening.”

“This boy?” Her chocolate eyes narrow. “Or, this thrax?”

Unholy moley.

“Forget it, Mom.” I take a few steps toward the front door, pause, and turn back. “You know, maybe I’d rather have latrine duty if it means I can be on my own. Because this–” I motion back and forth between us “–isn’t working.”

Mom’s eyes brim with tears. “Be safe, Myla. That’s all I ask.”