She takes it in the other room, and I fold up my ball of dough in plastic wrap like a present and stick it in the fridge. My arms are already tired from the kneading. For the zillionth time, I wish I could stand and stretch. Because she’s not here to yell at me, I settle for cracking my neck in that way Mom hates.

Ten minutes later and I’m sprinkling sugar over a bowl of cut peaches when she walks in.

“What?”

“What?”

“Why do you look like that?” I say, dusting the crumbles off my fingertips.

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve been hit by a bus and then backed over again.”

“It’s your grandfather.”

I grab a towel to wipe my hands and roll over to where she’s plopped on the couch. The blue books go sliding.

“What now?”

She leans over to pick them up, but then she just kind of stays there and puts her head on her knees. “He’s in the hospital.”

Oh boy. I try to swallow, but there’s a lump of panic in there that makes me cough. This must have been a bad one.

“What happened?”

“He drove into Food & Co.”

“What do you mean ‘into’?”

“I mean, he drove the truck through the glass front windows of the grocery store.”

Against my will, I picture his weathered hands on the wheel and see shattered glass and a tire spinning. I feel dizzy. When I was younger, he would hold me up so I could practice standing. He was always so steady. Something inside me topples over, and I wrap my arms around my stomach to hold myself together.

“I thought Mema hid the keys?”

“She did. He found them.”

I put a hand on her back. It’s knobby like mine. I can feel every bump on her spine. She aims her words at the ground and they fall heavy.

“They’re keeping him overnight in the hospital. Apparently, the airbag did some damage—abrasions to his face, your grandma said. He also fractured his nose.”

Ohhhhhhh boy.

We eat the peach galette for dinner. It’s a little soggy in the middle, but neither one of us cares. I don’t think Mom even knows she’s eating. Afterward she takes her exams with her to her bedroom. She works best when she’s stressed. I don’t. I spin in circles. Literally. I spend half an hour doing laps around the living room in my chair, trying to keep my body busy so my mind stops spinning. It doesn’t work. Grandpa’s hurt. Mema’s scared. Mom’s sad. It all sticks like gum and I can’t pull out of it. So I give up and head down the hallway.

I should go to bed now. Or study. Probably should study, but my head’s too crowded.

I pick up my phone, sneak into the bathroom, and lock the door.