“Wynonna and Ezra did beat the shit out of them,” said Willow. “Well, two out of three. Wynonna kicked Jayden in the balls so hard, I’m pretty sure he’s never going to have kids, and if he does, they’ll probably look like Play-Doh people. Like, Wallace and Gromit. Besides, I’m pretty sure Jayden and Thad’s parents might press charges against Ezra and Wynonna. If we can, like, nullify the charge-pressing on both sides, that sounds like justice to me.”

By the way, this conversation was happening inside Principal Durden’s tiny, undersized office. Mom, Dad, Willow, me, Wynezra, Principal Durden—we were all crammed inside it like outraged, argument-prone sardines. Wynezra and I, however, had resolved to sit quietly in the corner and not say a single word. Partly because things were resolving themselves well enough on their own, and partly because you couldn’t buy drama this good on premium cable.

Mom looked at Principal Durden. “Are those boys’ parents pressing charges?”

Principal Durden shrugged. “It’s possible.”

It was very possible. Both Thad and Jayden looked like we had beaten them with the ugliest stick from the ugliest tree of the ugliest forest. Their faces made me not want to eat blueberry strudel ever again.

“However,” said Principal Durden, “given the circumstances, I’m sure we can come to an understanding. No doubt the Hoxsie and Magnino families don’t want their boys on the front page of the”—she whipped out her index and middle fingers—“‘Chicago fucking Tribune.’”

Mom smiled. “An understanding sounds good. I think we can do an understanding.”

TWENTY

WILLOW AND I HAD our sleepover after all.

Technically, the Slevins invited me over for dinner, at which point, Willow piped up, “Can she sleep over, too?” It was a Monday, mind you. But today had been a crisis. Willow seemed okay, but I think everyone was still worried about her. I know I was. As for Mark and Janet Slevin—high on the victory of Being Good Parents—they couldn’t very well refuse. Instead, they sort of adopted me.

“As far as I’m concerned,” said Mom, “Wynonna is welcome to sleep over anytime she wants.”

“I guess you’re family now,” said Dad, winking. “Just say the word, and we’ll bust out the bunk beds in Willow’s room.”

“Yesssssss,” said Willow. And then, in her best Arnold Schwarzenegger impression: “Dooo eeet! Do eeet naaoooughwwww!”

I’m not gonna lie. That felt fucking amazing.

Wynezra just grinned, knowing full well this was the most gratifying moment of my life.

It was surreal—being in my own house again for the first time in a month.

It was one of those things you took for granted until it was taken from you. I found myself stalled in the entryway, just trying to breathe it all in. I lingered at the pictures on the wall: Mom, Dad, Willow, me. My small, dysfunctional, perfect family.