When I get home, Dad’s sitting on the couch. I’m surprised he’s home from work already.

“Hey, Q,” he says, and turns off the TV. “Where were you?”

“School.”

He looks at his big golden wristwatch. “Didn’t school let out a while ago?”

I swallow. “I was with Cora.”

“Cora.” He cups his chin with his hand and gives me a look. “Do you really think that’s such a good idea?”

“She—she—” My brain is doing one of its Freeze-Ups.

Dad doesn’t wait for me to get out my words. “Just be smart, Q. We can’t afford any more mistakes.”

I want to ask him about his guns and if he thinks that was a mistake. I want to ask him if he thinks it was a mistake not to talk to Parker more. To challenge him when he said hateful things at the dinner table. To make him come out of his room.

But my brain is like a giant glacier. It won’t melt. I can’t get a single word out of my mouth.

Dad sighs and leans farther back on the couch, his long legs stretching out in front of him. “I’m going to try to get your mom to look at this house in Turner’s Point. I think it would be good for all of us. You could make new friends. Leave this all behind. Wouldn’t that be great?”

“I—I—”

Dad answers for me again. “I just want you to be happy. I hope you know that.” He clicks back on the TV. The sound of a sportscaster fills the house.

I stand there and watch the TV. Eventually Dad turns around and looks at me. “I love you, Q. You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”

I want to scream, but I open my mouth and nothing comes out. Blood rushes to my face. I dig my fingernails into the flesh of my hands.

“Dad—” I did do something wrong. I saw Parker with the guns. I knew. “Dad, I—I—I—” I try again to tell him, but I can’t make the words come out.

“It’s okay. I know it’s hard to talk about.” He looks back at the TV. I wait for a while, but he doesn’t turn around again.

I walk upstairs. Cupcake is curled up right next to Parker’s door. I scoop her up and hug her to my chest. She purrs. My bottom lip trembles, but I don’t let myself cry.

Twenty-Five

Cora

I get to Coach Pearlman’s room a little early. Owen is already there, though. He has his earbuds in. When I sit down, he takes one of them out.

“Hey. Listen to this.” He hands me the earbud.

I put it in and hear a loud crash of drums and squealing guitars. Or I think they’re guitars. I don’t know that much about music, but I never like to admit that to Owen.

“What do you think?” he asks.

I knit my eyebrows together. “I don’t know. It’s kind of loud.”