“Yeah, everything’s fine. But if you see her, could you please tell her to call me at Jason’s,” I say, and then I give her the number. “And warn her away from going home. My father’s in a really bad mood.”

She pauses in such a way that suggests she might know the reason behind it. “Did he say why?” she asks.

“No.”

“Well, I’ll make sure she knows if I talk to her.”

I pause. “Do you know why?”

“No idea, I’m afraid,” she says, and I know it’s a lie but I don’t press her. I know I should, but at sixteen, I’m shy, still fighting for my share of worldly confidence.

I make two more calls to two of my mother’s other friends, but neither answers. When I put down the phone I sigh.

“Everything okay?” Jason asks.

“I hope so. I got into an argument with my dad before coming here. He’s pissed off about something, and I can’t get ahold of my mom to find out.”

“I wouldn’t worry. Your mom would probably whip his ass if he tried anything.”

“Maybe,” I say. My mother’s a spunky woman. The days of being pushed around by my father without fighting back are long since over. The last big fight, six months ago, I watched him smack her, then watched her slug him hard in the nose with a straight right, bringing an end to the fight and blood and tears to my father’s face. Yes, I think, I’m sure she’ll be fine.

Jason’s holding a twelve-gauge shotgun in one hand, a black duffel bag filled with shells and a handgun in the other. A long piece of straw hangs from his mouth, and he looks like an outlaw ready for the high noon showdown in some dusty town.