“Fun,” Mom repeated. “And what kind of parents does this girl have? To be fine with you showing up randomly at that time of night? If some kid showed up here at midnight, you can bet your ass I’d call her mother and check in.”

“It’s complicated,” I said, borrowing Jasper’s words. “I don’t know how to . . . explain.”

“Try,” said Mom.

“I want to, but—”

“Try!” shouted Mom suddenly, banging her cup down on the coffee table. There was a sharp crack, and the cup fell into two pieces, broken.

“Mom!” I said, jumping up.

I think she even surprised herself. Mom wasn’t a yeller or a smasher. I’m not sure I’d ever heard her shout like that in all my life. In that moment, it felt like she’d cracked. Broken, like the mug. We both stared at the handle in her hand and the other chunk of ceramic, now fallen off the table. There was coffee everywhere.

“I loved that mug,” she said under her breath.

“I did too,” I said.

Mom took a deep breath. “Okay, Leah. Let’s try this again. I want you to explain.”

She wasn’t even trying to clean up the mess. She was still clutching the handle, but there was no mug attached. It was just something to hold on to.

I stood there, staring down at my mother. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. I’d sworn to Jasper I wouldn’t tell anyone about her situation, but nothing was making any sense at all. I wished I could see her, right now. I wished I could tell her about this mess. Ask her what to say.

“Mom,” I tried again. “I didn’t do anything bad, I swear. I was just . . .”

Mom looked like she was going to cry, but she sounded angry, not sad, when she suddenly said, “Give me your phone, Leah, now. I don’t want you scheming with this Jasper kid again until I’ve had a chance to meet her. And her parents.”

“I don’t have my phone on me. I forgot it when I went out.”

“Then go get it. And bring it here. And your laptop too. To begin with, you’ve lost screen privileges for the foreseeable future. I’m not sure what else.”

So I ran to get the phone from where I’d left it beside my bed, and my laptop from my desk. As I walked back to the living room, I checked the phone. Seventeen missed calls. One after another. All from Mom.

“Here,” I said, setting both devices down on the dry part of the table. “Mom. I’m sorry. But I swear, nothing bad happened. Nothing bad is happening.”