And there it is. Another memory of Mom I never knew. How many times have we eaten these cookies? Why didn’t she tell me that story? My stomach clenches, and I put the cookies back. It’s not fair. None of this is fair. It’s like Mom’s a stranger I’m just now being properly introduced to. I sit down with my bowl and pick at the fabric of my skirt under the table. Ginger leans against the counter and sips her coffee. I lean toward the smell.

“Want some?” she asks.

Is this a test? I’m supposed to say no, right? Except I say “yes, please,” because I haven’t had coffee in days and my head hurts and it’s not just left over from the concussion. She pours me half a cup and passes me a little carton of fancy creamer—organic cinnamon mocha something or other.

“I probably shouldn’t let you, but coffee is one thing I do know how to make,” she says. We clink our cups together, and I forget about my skirt for a minute.

Dan walks in as I’m rinsing my dishes in the sink, even though Ginger told me to leave them. Who just leaves dirty dishes sitting in the sink? He’s wearing khakis with a sharp crease all the way to his loafers. His tie is the same blue-and-gray plaid as my uniform. He lifts a leather satchel over one shoulder. He is the perfect picture of an English teacher.

“Ready to go?” he says.

I grip the edge of the counter, dizzy with fear, even though this part has already been explained to me in detail. Because Chickering is a private school, they don’t have buses. Dan will take me to and from school in between tennis practice. Today I will meet with the guidance counselor during first period to go over my schedule and discuss my “school plan” based on the files they sent over from my one year in Biloxi and the few times before that when I actually went to school long enough to have a file. But my insides still turn to Jell-O when he opens the door.

“Wait!” Ginger stops us as we’re walking out. “Take this.” It’s an iPhone.

I look at it in my hand. It is pink with a gold case covered in flowers. “You want me to take your picture?”

“What?” Ginger looks confused. “No! Lou, it’s for you. I’ve programmed in both our cell numbers, and our address is in there too. You just call us if you need us, okay?”