“Why are you being so rude to that boy?”

“I’m not being rude, I’m being honest. I’m not hungry. And I don’t want to watch TV or play video games.”

“You complain that you don’t have friends, and then you reject a perfectly nice, age-appropriate companion.”

I hadn’t audibly complained about my lack of friends since the ninth grade, but I was unable to point that out since my mom wouldn’t stop talking.

“Why do you want to spend all your time with a pregnant woman twice your age? I thought she was teaching you pottery, but now . . . what? You take pictures of her?”

“I’m her photographer,” I grumbled, as Eckhart pulled at my hair. “For her Instagram.”

“Has she hired you?”

“We have a partnership.”

“You used to photograph Eckhart and nature and animals. Now, you only shoot Freya. It’s like she’s the only thing that interests you. It’s not healthy.”

“Freya is famous on Instagram. We’re building her brand together.”

My mom shook her head, her expression chagrined. “None of that is real, Swallow. It’s superficial nonsense. You know that.”

I was instantly defensive. “What would you know about reality? You hide out in your free-love hippie universe and pretend that there’s no such thing as social media, or celebrity. But it exists, Mom. And it matters. You’d get it if you weren’t so . . . irrelevant.”

I watched my mother’s face turn red with anger, hurt, and disappointment. She looked like she couldn’t decide whether to slap me or burst into tears. But she did neither of those things. She spoke in a trembling voice.

“Go eat pizza with that boy, or so help me . . .”

She took my brother from my arms and stormed out of the room.

“Fine!” I called after her. “God!” I thumped back into the living room, where Thompson, who had clearly heard everything, sat looking pale and frightened.

“Let’s go,” I barked.

He jumped to his feet and followed me out of the house.

Chapter 43

43

We drove to the pizza joint in separate cars. I wasn’t planning to stay long. But eating pizza with Thompson was preferable to being at home with my outraged mother, who by now would have told my dad, Gwen, maybe even Vik about my insolence and moral turpitude. My parents were probably strategizing an intervention at this very moment. I would hide out with Thompson until they all cooled off. Hopefully, they’d smoke a joint to de-stress themselves and then find the whole thing laughable.

I arrived first and slid into a booth without ordering. Thompson would want to buy me a piece of pizza; it made him feel chivalrous. Plus, I had no money since having ordered the lighting kit for Freya.