My phone vibrates as it rings a fifth time, and I pull it out of my pocket.

“Mom,” I hiss in lieu of a hello. My hands are sweaty and the phone is hot on my cheek, causing a bit of my shimmery lotion to melt onto the screen. “You called right in the middle of Abigail’s performance, and you just gave me a heart attack because you know I only keep this on for emergencies—”

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I hate to do this, but I have to pick you up.” There’s a car horn in the background and some static.

“What, why?”

“The aide just called out, and we’re already short-staffed at work, so I can’t leave. Meet me in front of school. I’ll explain in the car.”

“But, Mom—”

“I said I’ll explain in the car.”

She hangs up. I clench my right fist, which is the stronger of the two, to keep from putting it through the fire extinguisher’s case. It’s not worth getting suspended, or whatever they do to people who play with fire. As I walk toward the entrance of the building, the sounds of the auditorium get farther and farther away. I text Gene.

Be right back C

G Where are you going?

I pause. I don’t want to sound like a weenie who promptly answers every one of her mom’s calls. I need an excuse that makes me seem a little mysterious as opposed to a little breastfed.

I forgot something I need for tonight ;) C

Cheer for Abigail for me C

I cross the metal detectors and hold opposite wrists, starting to dig my fingernails in, when I see my mom’s headlights. I immediately shove my hands in my pockets as she stops outside the sign that declares the Gill School a place of ECSTATIC LEARNING. Gag me with a compostable spork.

I step out the main entrance of the building and into the chilly parking lot, avoiding my mom’s eyes as I slide into the warmth of the car.

“Thanks, Cham, sorry about this,” she says. Before I close the door, I hear a cheer from inside the school, just audible enough to remind me I’m missing something.

As we drive, I scowl out the window and track the moon as it moves imperceptibly slowly through the trees. “I know your night’s just starting, but it shouldn’t be more than an hour before they get a replacement over to the house.” She speeds through an intersection where a yellow light is flashing and I grip my seat belt.

“Senior Night is a once in a lifetime thing, though.”

“I know it is, Cham, but you know what happened last time your dad was home alone at night.”

“But now that he uses his wheelchair all the time, he’s much safer.” My voice breaks as she takes a corner too quickly and my body presses against the hard, indifferent door. “He wouldn’t be able to get into the car now. Besides, he hasn’t driven in a year. There’s no way he’d try to do that again.”