I didn’t even try to stop myself from crying this time. It felt good to cry alone. There, in my empty room. Heavy sobs. Big and loose. Like running very fast down a hill, when you can’t stop your feet even if you try. It was like I’d flipped a switch the night before, and now I couldn’t turn myself off. I cried about Sam, and I cried about being in trouble. I cried about losing my phone, and not seeing Jasper. I cried because the walls were so bare and the house felt too quiet. I cried because of everything, everything, everything. I cried myself limp.

Just as I was getting to that shuddering place, when the crying is stopping but your face is still all wet, the door opened and my mom peeked her head around the corner.

“Leah?” she said, opening the door a little wider. “Are you . . . ?”

I held the toy out to her in my hand. “I found this,” I blubbered. “The Damn Fart Machine.”

“Oh, dear,” Mom said. She walked over to stand beside me and put a hand gently on my head. “Oh, honey.”

I wiped my face with an arm. Mom was blurry through my tears. I took a deep breath. “I’m not in trouble. I swear I’m not doing anything bad.”

“I want to believe that,” she said. “I really do.”

“Please, Mom,” I said. “Please don’t say I can’t see Jasper. She’s my best friend. And I was so . . . lonely.” On that word, I shuddered. “Before I found her, I mean. I’ve been so lonely, ever since . . .”

Mom knelt down beside my chair, and it seemed for a minute like she might cry too. There was something careful and fragile about her too, as though she thought she might shatter if she moved too fast. But she didn’t cry, only pushed a piece of hair out of my wet face, and then she sighed. “Look, Leah,” she said. “Even if you’re not doing anything bad, you could still get in a lot of trouble. Bad things happen to good kids.”

“I know,” I said. “But I’ll be careful, and—”

“Serious trouble,” she said. “It scares me. You sneaking out, like that. It’s not safe. And it’s my job to keep you . . . safe.”

“But—”

“Maybe Jasper isn’t a bad influence, and maybe she is. Maybe you’ve learned a lesson and you’ll never sneak out again. Maybe she’s a good kid, the best in the world. But if you want to spend time with her, I’ll need to meet her. . . .”

I nodded furiously, sniffing back tears. “Okay,” I said. “Okay.”

“And also her mother,” said Mom. “That’s just a rule. This is not some weird idea I came up with, Leah. It’s a standard-issue Mom rule.”

“But it’s . . . complicated,” I said.