Justin shakes his head, laughing. The noise of that place rattles around in my brain like we’re inside a machine. It’s echoing all over.

I am still staring at him angrily when I feel another knock on my shoulder. I look up and see that Lottie has shoved me.

“Hey—”

“Seriously? What is wrong with you?” she shouts over the din.

“Wrong with me? Me?”

“Why do you have such an ax to grind about everything?”

“An ax? What?”

She looks at me for a long time, and then says, “You know, you don’t need to make everything about you.” And she starts to walk away.

“Fuck you, Lottie!” I yell. “You are not the only one struggling.”

She turns around, lifts her hands, and yells back, “Who said I was struggling?” I start to respond, but she continues, “You know, Stevie, everything doesn’t have to be a battle. Everything isn’t a chance for you to have the spotlight.”

“What the—”

“Join the drama club or something. Get an outlet for your, I dunno what this is. Look, we get it: you’re pissed at the world. Just—stay the fuck out of my life!”

A bunch of the guys are shaking their fingers and saying “Ooh, burn” as they turn to leave, and I could kill them, honestly. But my fury is for Lottie right now. Lottie, leaving again. She turns, moving through the door with the others, and I am here, in an empty room with wisps of recycled paper drifting around me.

Chapter 21

21

When I get home that day, Reg is watching TV in our family room. I walk in, eating an apple.

“Where’s my mom,” I ask him, stone cold.

“She’s on her way.” He looks at me. “How you feeling?”

“What? Fine.”

He mutes the TV and turns around, all serious. “Listen, kid. Your mom told me what’s happening at your school lately. And, you know, it makes sense why you’ve been acting so agro.”

Aggressive. Jesus H. Christ, this guy.

“And I gotta say, I get it. I’m not proud of it, but I used to give some guys at my school a hard time when I was your age.” Big surprise there. “Bullying is serious stuff, man. I hope you know that you can come to me and talk about it if anything happens to you or one of your girlfriends or something.”

“Talk to you.”

“Yeah.” He leans in and opens his hands, all welcoming. “I get it if you can’t tell your mom stuff all the time, but you can confide in me if you need to. Maybe it’s because I never grew up”—he snickers—“but I understand kids.” He raises his eyebrows. “It’s hard to get any shit past me, let me tell you.”

“Right …” I close my eyes, and when I open them, he’s changing the channels again. “Tell my mom I went out.”