Mom was lean and healthy-looking, with a round—but certainly not soft—face. She gave the impression of being all hard edges, but maybe it was just her presence that was intense. Her teeth seemed to be in a perpetual state of clenching, and her eyes were constantly skeptical, and her brow was furrowed to the point of creating a labyrinth of forehead. In short, she seemed stressed. Maybe even angry that she was so stressed, which, in turn, only amplified the preexisting stress. It was a vicious cycle.

When she saw us—saw me, particularly—her brow furrowed so tight, she could have cracked a pistachio.

“Sorry,” said Mom, returning her gaze to Wynezra. “I thought Willow was here. Is she okay?”

“Hi, I’m Wynonna, Willow’s best friend,” I said, kind of proud of myself that I wasn’t even bending the truth—about being Willow’s best friend, that is. I obviously wasn’t Wynonna. “And no, Willow’s not okay. This was just sent around school. For the second time.”

Wynezra and I didn’t even look at each other. I extended my hand palm-up, she slapped her phone into it, and I shoved it in my mom’s face. It was the sort of thing that looked like we had rehearsed it, but I can assure you, we didn’t. We were simply that cool.

“Oh my god,” said Mom. Her skeptical eyes became huge, swelling with sickness. And then she blinked. “I’m sorry, did you say second time?”

Now that I had her undivided attention, I started from the beginning—that little shitbag Patrick Durfee—and proceeded through the whole harrowing story. The emphasis points were that Willow was being punished for this, that Principal Durden left her and Dad voice mails about this, and now we had a blowjob video on our hands—which I showed her. The good news was that “Ezra” and I might have assaulted and/or battered Jayden and Thad to the point of a felony—which was also, arguably, bad news.

Mom was trembling.

Mom was furious.

Not at Willow (although she certainly wasn’t happy with Willow’s life choices), and not at Ezra (although she had extremely mixed feelings about her son’s sudden career in juvenile delinquency). She was mad at the little fuckers who did this to her daughter. She was mad at Principal Durden—her son’s best friend’s mother!

But—most importantly—she was clearly the most angry with herself.

By the time we finished, Dad showed up in his turquoise surgeon scrubs. Although the moment he saw Mom, his pace dropped rapidly, and he seemed to immediately reconsider whether participating in this family emergency was in his best interest. God, if this was what marriage was like, sign me up.

Mom noticed him, but not with her usual disdain. Instead, she returned her gaze to us.