I’m not a tiny baby, Altemonte said, but he snuggled in close.

But I need you here with me, my pie, Grandma Barlow said.

Grandma Barlow could only do what she could do. And what she could do was bake pies. And teach math, and cover us with quilts, and fill us with pancakes, and prop us up in front of a video, and furnish us with a PlayStation, which we could throw flaming axes across the screen right into the forehead of the bad guy, and she did all of this to comfort us.

She held Altemonte in her lap and I watched them and I didn’t think about how it felt to be in Mama L’s lap. Altemonte pushed his head up under her chin and I didn’t think about what it felt like to push my head up under Mama L’s chin. I just watched them and tried to think about pancakes and pies and flaming axes and elves and bad guys and foreheads. Grandma Barlow said, Altemonte, it’s time for your medicine. She took a bottle from her pocket and reached for a water glass. The pills were blue and looked like nail polish. Altemonte closed his eyes and swallowed. Grandma Barlow watched me watching. These pills make my boy feel better, she said. It might be they could make you feel better, too.

At school, the principal kindly called me into his office again and I went in and we smiled sadly at each other. The Outside Girl was sitting in a chair and she stood up and I smiled sadly at her and she said, Perley, I’m here to take you to see a counselor, remember we talked about it? I remembered the wolf pack council and she drove me into town. I thought she’d drive me past our driveway so I could make sure it was still there. She was going that direction, but she swerved at the last minute and took a different route.

The counselor wasn’t a wolf pack he was just a guy with a soft voice and a pancake face all smooth and golden. He asked me some questions about making friends and leaving the classroom without permission, and about the tablet and about not completing my Specials. I try to complete my Specials, I said. I like to look at them on the tablet but it’s like I can’t really see them. It’s like I look at the screen and my eyes start to blur does that ever happen to you?

No, Perley, that doesn’t happen to me, he said. It sounds distressing. Which was a word I loved, like being shipwrecked, like the lullaby Mama K and Mama L used to sing, so I was like, Distressing. Yes. Totally distressing.