A surge of worry tangles my stomach up. Last night, talking to Mom seemed possible when Dad was listening to me all calmly and rationally. But now? She’s already upset, and my feelings are rising to meet hers. I pull the covers more tightly over my head and pretend to be asleep, even though I can hardly breathe.

“I’m coming in,” she says, and then the door swings open. She steps inside, but her footsteps stop right after she crosses the threshold.

“What happened in here?” she asks, taken aback.

“I cleaned,” I mumble from under the covers.

But instead of praising me for finally doing what she’s constantly asking me to, she says, “I’m worried about you.” She crosses the room and peels the blankets off me. Her hand on my forehead is cool and dry. “You’ve hardly left your room since yesterday afternoon,” she says. “Have you been drinking water? Does your head hurt? Are you dizzy? Dehydration can be very dangerous.” She pinches gently at the skin of my arm.

I shrug away. Her worry feels abrasive. Misguided. She’s so clueless about what’s wrong with me. She won’t even talk to me about what’s wrong with her. Perhaps I should reach for her to try to extract the sort of comfort that mothers are supposed to provide, but I’m as rooted to the bed as a tree to the earth. My branches don’t stretch far enough to touch her. And even if I could, I am no shelter to her, and she is none to me. How can I break through this to have an honest conversation with her?

“Do I need to take you to the doctor?” She wrings her hands. “You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine.” I want her to go away. I can’t deal with her right now.

“Don’t you have plans with one of your friends today? Games with Will?” she asks.

“Will’s at the Blazers game today,” I remind her. “I’m meeting him tomorrow after school instead.”

“What about that girl Zoe? She seems nice.”

I roll back toward Mom and jerk the blankets up tight against my chin. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have friends. I can’t have friends because I’m a freak and a robot!” Even though I try not to, I choke on the words.

“What do you mean?” she asks with a shocked expression. But I can’t tell her what happened with Zoe. I can’t explain that if I were normal none of this would have happened. I can’t explain that an entire world, a universe, has been destroyed because of what a stupid robot I am.