Through the windshield I watched Mr. Blakely run to the car, his cell phone deserted in the gravel behind him. “Are you all right?” As if there were cotton in my ears, his shouting was muffled. “Are you both all right?”

We were too terrified to answer yes, because we knew he’d unleash on us. But we both nodded, our chins quivering from the fear of what had happened and of what was about to.

“Get out of the car. Both of you, get out. Let me see you.” We slowly extracted ourselves from the steaming metal, knowing the car was much more compact than it had been before. And that we might share its fate.

But Mr. Blakely didn’t pop a vein.

“You girls scared me to death,” he whispered. He looked us both over, like he needed to see for himself that we were okay. “That car came so close to hitting you, I thought I’d lost you both.” Then he pulled us to him, his arms so tight and solid that our chins stopped quivering and our hearts stopped racing and all we felt was safe.

That is what love is—the ability to push aside all the stupid stuff, no matter who brought it on or why, and to embrace what’s important.

When the police called my mom and told her about the “Mini Mart Mugging,” I knew she’d be mad. After all, her daughter would never need to be picked up from the police station.

But I also kind of hoped when she’d heard about it, or at least the policemen’s version of it—since they really made it out like Shay was some kind of badass—she’d be so relieved and grateful I wasn’t hurt, she’d forgive me.

But when Mom came out of the chief’s office, she didn’t hug me. She could barely even look at me.

I knew Mom didn’t believe “the attack” was a random act of violence against me. I just wasn’t completely aware of what she was thinking, or I might not have left my room. Unfortunately after sitting in the holding tank at the police station (Hello? Who was the victim?), I desperately needed to shower. When I came out, I found her standing over the shattered remains of what used to be my computer.

At first, all I could do was stare. “What have you done?”

“It was an accident,” she said, looking winded and ruddy, and oddly triumphant.

“An accident?”

“No, no, it fell.”

I really didn’t care how it happened or why; I just wanted it fixed. I wanted it put back together. I wanted everything in my shattered world put back together. The tears threatened to start up again, but I rolled my eyes skyward to stop them.