It’s weird. Since the other night, my mom and I have been talking. Like, actually talking in a way we never have before. The morning after we woke up in Jordan’s bed, something shifted between us, and it was like she saw me for the first time in years. She told me she had spent the better part of the last year holed up in her office, trying to hide from the world because she felt so guilty. She knew that all the expectations she and my dad heaped on Jordan had started to drive a wedge between him and me, and she feels responsible for the fact that the two of us had drifted so far apart toward the end. She wishes she had stopped pushing Jordan, only thinking of the future and his potential, and instead seen who he was as a person and appreciated the present. I guess my dad hasn’t come to the same conclusion, because apparently he’s moving out. Moving out—officially. I can’t say I’m surprised.

And then my mom told me it’s about time I tried to live again. Just like Lucy said. I told her I would consider it, as long as she did too.

My mom and I are eating dinner together, which hasn’t happened in forever, when Lucy texts.

Come to my show tonight.

My mom looks at my buzzing phone and raises her eyebrows.

“Sorry.” I move to switch it off, and she shakes her head.

“It’s okay.” She smiles. “Who was that?”

“Lucy. Who else? Her band has a show tonight, I guess.”

“Are you going?”

I widen my eyes and shake my head so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t fall right off my neck. “No!”

“Why not?”

“Mom. You know why not.” The video of my speech is out there on the Internet, making the rounds, although the numbers have started to slow on YouTube, thank god. The other day, my mom watched it, finally. She said that no matter what anyone says, what happened wasn’t my fault.

Still, Rose-Brady told my mom that the board won’t make a final decision about my status at school until everything gets much, much calmer. She’s apparently fighting for me, though—again—which is more than I deserve.

There’s no way I can go out in public right now.

No. I respond to Lucy.

A text bubble pops up immediately.

Yes.

No.

May, get your ass out of your bed.

Lucy, leave me alone.

Never.

I look up, and my mom’s smiling. I realize that it’s because I’m smiling. I haven’t smiled in over a week.

“Go.” She reaches out and takes my hand. “It’ll be okay.”

“What will?”

“All of this—all of us. We will be okay. I promise.”

Another text from Lucy dings on my phone: Zach will be there.