I end up faking sick to avoid work for the next week. During the seven days I spend alone in my bedroom, I basically wait for my parents to somehow find out what happened that night. I figure either Brenda will change her mind and go to the police, or she’ll tell Huey and he’ll fire me.

My anxiety level seems to increase daily. I hate everything right now. Everything about life sucks big balls. I’ve yet to see Tank since the day I confronted him in Big Dale’s bedroom, so he’s obviously still pissed about that. He hasn’t even called or texted. As for Sarah, I’m totally in love with her and think about her all the time, but I can’t muster the courage to tell Tank about it, especially with the steroid thing still clouding the air. Man, part of me wants to go out to the old fort, lock myself inside without food or water, and die a miserable, slow, agonizing death. That’s exactly what I deserve.

So you know how sometimes you reach a moment when it seems life can’t possibly get any suckier, but then, of course, something happens to elevate the “Life Sucks” scale even higher? I mean, that’s how it works, right? Well, one night my dad makes this quiet entrance into my room, saying he really needs to speak with me.

He sits on the edge of my bed with a can of beer and a half-smoked cigarette. I stand up and lean against my dresser, noticing the worried look on his face. I’m thinking he’s about to break the news of a divorce. But instead, he stands, pops the cigarette between his lips, and reaches into his back pocket.

“You need to know that your mother and I received these today,” he says, not making eye contact. He shows me two pink layoff notices from the assembly plant. My stomach does this total drop, like I’m going down the first steep hill of some massive roller coaster.

“Why?” I ask. “You two have been there forever. It’s where you met.”

“I know, Zach,” he says. “Believe me, I know, but twenty years isn’t exactly forever. A lot of those guys have been there close to thirty.” He tucks the notices back into his pocket. “But that’s how far they decided to go back, twenty damn years.” He looks over my shoulder toward the only window in my bedroom, one that happens to offer a view of the brightly-lit assembly plant and its smokestacks in the distance. “When I got that job, I figured I was set forever.” He shrugs.

“Sorry, Dad.”