I sigh inside. She’s gone too far. It’s still too early in the year for grades, even I know that, but Joe either doesn’t pick up on it or doesn’t care, because he smiles when I squeak out a “Thank you for the lunch,” and Mom pulls us away, through the café and back out onto the sidewalk. The sun isn’t as warm as it was just a few weeks ago. October is almost here. How am I going to hide the fact that I’m not in school once the weather turns too cold to be outside? Not that I’m complaining. I love the mountain quiet where I can be alone without bells ringing and bus brakes screeching and kids bumping into me. I miss the homework, though. There’s only so much you can learn from the donations in the Little Free Library. While we walk back down the hill to the campsite, Mom hums. School’s the last thing on her mind.

I flip down the tailgate, and we sit in the bed of the truck with our feet up and tucked into each other. The Chevy used to be white. It’s more a dirty beige now with cracks of rust running through it. But it’s home. I unwrap both our sandwiches, and we eat slowly, savoring something that’s not fried or out of a can. I lick the cream cheese off my fingers and then tip the paper wrapping up to catch the last of the crumbs. Right now, this is just about perfect. It’s cozy in the truck, and there’s a couple trying to teach their little kid to fish. He keeps throwing his Elmo pole into the water when he casts his line. It’s hilarious.

Mom reaches over and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. I smell her, the warm tanned scent of her underneath the cigarette smoke. She moves to grab a Camel from her stash, but I catch her hand and hold it. She shakes her head but laughs.

“Maybe now’s the time to quit. A fresh start for me and you. Yeah?” she says.

I nod into her shoulder, and we both shiver when a gust of wind blows in off the lake.

“It’s colder now than it was this morning.” She sighs. “It’s probably eighty degrees in LA. What do you bet?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I scooch down so my head is on her lap. She moves her fingers through my hair slowly, and it doesn’t make me want to twitch. She’s the only one who can touch me like this without making me jump or cringe. There’s no startle reflex when it comes to her. I close my eyes and remember when I was littler and she used to do it all the time.…