She was so concerned. So nice to me. Something, just then, shifted. An imperceptible movement somewhere in me, and I told her all of it. Natan’s grossness, not calling the police and why. Not telling Francine. She listened and listened, and I knew she understood and would keep it all safely to herself. The third-period bell rang. We were late. I was late.

“I don’t want to go home,” I said. “I want to go to class, but now I don’t know how to come in late.”

“Being late is fun,” she said, and stood and pulled me up.

“No,” I whined.

“Suck it up,” she said, and marched me to class. “Tell Mr. Murchison you were busy smashing the patriarchy. And a dude’s balls.”

It felt so good to laugh.

—

I texted Sean twice and got no response. After an early dinner I took a shower, sat in bed to do homework, texted him again and at last a response:

I’m okay just sleeping

Enough.

I got up and dressed, went downstairs to stand beside Francine and Terry Johnson on the sofa, and took a deep breath.

“I know it’s late,” I said, “and a school night. But I wondered, could I go to Sean’s house for just a little while to say hi, because he stayed home sick today, and I don’t know if his mom is around, so I thought I’d just make sure he’s okay.”

She put Terry Johnson on the floor. “Do you want me to drive you?”

“Yes,” I said, startled. “Thank you.”

—

She stopped in front of his house.

I pulled out my phone.

You home?

Yes

Mom awake?

Where are you

Outside, Francine drove me.

The front door opened three seconds later and he stood there, in boxer shorts and a T-shirt. Gorgeous.

“Looks okay to me,” Francine said. “Healthy, I mean.”

I nodded.

“Well. Tell him to put on some pants, and I’ll pick you up or have him drive you home,” Francine said. “No later than eleven.”

“Eleven. Okay.”

“Be careful,” she said. “And give him my love.” She waved to Sean as she pulled away, Terry watching out the passenger window.

I stood on the bottom porch step.

“I’ve been sick to my stomach worried about you,” he said, “but I didn’t want to freak you out and show up or keep texting or calling….Will you please just tell me you’re okay and what I can do?”

“What’s going on with Katrina?”

It began to rain.

“What? Come up here—I can’t hear you; I don’t have shoes.”

“Katrina. You left with her after school. What’s going on with that?”