I shake my head and she sighs. “You said you were going to do them a month ago. I need you to tell me what’s going on in your little world over there.” Which one? “What was this detention about?”

I dig my knuckles into the balls of my feet, then dab at the blisters lining my achilles. “Gene kissed someone else,” I say, my face quivering. “And I got a little mad and—”

I hiccup/cry/snort, which is an amazing throat-and-nostril feat.

“Oh, sweetie.” My mom sets the Pledge on the coffee table and hugs me. My heart rate aligns itself with the clock’s loud ticking on the wall behind us.

“It’s turning up all this old stuff,” I mumble. “Like being mad and having nowhere to hold it all. Next thing I knew I was throwing Tater Tots at him. I think it was mortifying, but I was too mad to care.”

My mom grimaces as she strokes my hair. “What else?”

“I said some stuff. I don’t know. It was ugly and the whole school saw and it was kind of the end of Cham’s dignity as we know it.”

My mom kisses my forehead. “Do you think you maybe need to go back to anger management?” she asks gently.

Those are the cursed words. Forget damn and hell. Anger. Management. Is. My. Condemnation.

“I do not—” I start loudly, then clear my throat and take a more pleasant tone, ’cause like case in point. “Need anger management,” I finish sweetly. “I just need the world to piss me off less.”

She stares off into the place where the ceiling meets the wall. “We need a solid plan to finish senior year on a strong note and get your college applications in. When I was talking to your English teacher, we agreed you should try tutoring for the essay. She’s going to give you more time, but only if you get help.”

I scowl and push the fluid around under my blister.

“Evelyn said this boy named Brendan and your friend Abigail are the only seniors still tutoring.” I put my head between my knees. Why, Universe, are you doing this to me? Between you, me, and my patellas, this is bullshit. “Do you want me to set something up for you?”

I glare at her. “You can’t be MIA from my life for the last year and then suddenly step in.”

“What the hell does that mean?” my mom asks sharply. I wince and her face softens. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just… go on.”

“Well, you’re so busy with Dad and everything, and I know you have to be, but—” Angry mom hasn’t been around for a while, not since my dad got sick and she became the self-help guru. Tidy your house! Tidy your emotions! Tidy your life! A part of me wants to keep it that way, but another part of me wants to say what I haven’t said, not even to myself. “I just don’t think it’s fair for you to get mad when I’m fending for myself here.”