Chapter 3
Rage

Carter is driving his little ride-on tractor around the couch where I’m sprawled out. Lawson has scribbled another picture to show me.

“A cow!” Lawson shoves the paper at me. It looks just like the butterfly he showed me two minutes ago.

“Coolest cow ever,” I say. “Right on, buddy.”

His face lights up.

“Are you two letting Zaine rest?” Aunt Sarah calls from the kitchen.

“Yes.”

“We are.”

That seems like a lie. But maybe in their wacky little three-year-old world, that doesn’t even qualify as ‘bending the truth.’

This is pretty much how I spend my days now that I’m home from the hospital. Given all the punches and kicks I took, the doctor was surprised I didn’t get a concussion. My ribs are healing well, and I’ve been up moving around more. That’s probably why the twins keep forgetting that I can’t always play with them or answer their millions of questions.

I’ve been watching the calendar closely. Just two days now until Mom moves back to Melton Grove. After four years, I don’t want Mom coming back to a kid who can hardly bend over and tie his shoelaces. So I’ve been trying extra hard to get better. I’m starting to get a bit of exercise too. I even left the house a few days ago to pick up some boxes from the grocery store to pack my things in. I need to be stronger for when Mom gets here.

“Come on, you two.” Aunt Sarah steps out of the kitchen. “Time to get ready for bed.”

“No!” They say it together — the same little-kid whine in both their voices.

“No arguing,” Aunt Sarah says.

Carter and Lawson look over at me.

“Sorry,” I say. “I can’t help you with this one.”

They groan and follow Aunt Sarah to their bedroom. This is my cue to get some packing done. It’s way easier when the twins aren’t around to check out everything I’m trying to put into the boxes.

I’ve packed a lot of my clothes. Plus, I’ve taken down my posters and my photos from the walls. My bookshelf is mostly bare. I’m stacking all the dirty glasses and plates from my dresser when the phone rings. Aunt Sarah grabs it right away. Meanwhile, I kick my socks and T-shirts from the floor into a pile to throw in the washing machine later.

I’m taking the dishes into the dishwasher when I pass by Aunt Sarah. She’s still on the phone. With every word, her voice is growing angrier. “Beth, you’ll have to tell him yourself.”

Beth? That’s Mom!

“Tell me what?” I ask.

“Just a minute,” Aunt Sarah says. “Zaine is right here.”

She takes the dishes and passes me the phone, then she steps into the kitchen.

“Mom?” I say. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Zainey.” She’s practically purring over the phone. “It’s so good to hear your voice, honey. You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Lots better. What did you want Aunt Sarah to tell me?”

Mom doesn’t answer.

“It’s almost March thirty-first,” I say. “You know what that means . . .”

“Actually, we need to talk about that,” Mom says.

A knot starts to tighten in my stomach. I drop down onto the couch. But my knee is bouncing and it won’t stop.

“I’ve packed most of my things,” I say.

Bounce, bounce, bounce.

“Zaine, honey,” she pauses. “I’m afraid, uh —”

“That you’ll be a few days late?” My throat has gone dry. I sound like a lost little kid. I swallow hard while I try to find my real voice again.

“Actually,” Mom says, “I’ve met this special guy. He treats me real nice, Zaine. I’m going to be staying here after all.”

“So, you’re not coming back?” I’m clutching the phone in a white-knuckled death grip. “Do you want me to go there instead?”

Mom pauses before she speaks again. “For once,” she says, “things are going great for me.”

She completely avoided my question. I suddenly realize what’s happening. She doesn’t want me there with her either!

“Seriously, Mom?” I take a deep breath. “Did you really just say that things are going great for you?”

Mom gives a high-pitched laugh. “Yes, Zaine,” she says. “I did.”

A wave of steam rushes into my head. I’m trying to keep my eyes fixed on the white wall across from me. I need to keep everything from turning red and explosive.

“How do you think things are going for me?” I ask. “Any idea, Mom?”

No answer. And she owes me that. Instead, Mom starts babbling on about how special her guy is. “And he has three kids — three of them, Zaine.”

Just focus on the white wall.

“I swore I wasn’t going to get involved again with a guy who has a houseful of kids.”

Keep breathing.

“Because,” she continues, “I hardly need a bunch of kids to raise.”

“No, you sure don’t,” I say. “Especially since you’re not even raising your own kid.”

But I don’t think Mom even hears me. She’s still going on about her special new guy and her fabulous life. God, I was such an idiot to believe she wanted to live with me again.

“What’s his name, Mom? You know — Mr. Wonderful?”

“His name is Jake.” Mom gives that strained laugh again. “Mr. Wonderful — ha! Zaine, you’re as cute and funny as ever.”

“Cute and funny as ever?” I say. “How could you possibly know that? You haven’t seen me in four years. You’ve hardly even phoned me!”

I leave some empty space hanging in the air between us. I’m hoping she’ll realize how lousy this situation is for me and maybe change her mind. Still, she doesn’t say anything.

When I finally speak up again, my voice is low and shaky. “Where are you?”

“Vancouver.” Her cheery, upbeat voice makes me feel even sicker. “You should see the ocean and the amazing waterfront and the beaches here. You’d love it.”

A lush, beautiful picture forms in my head — a picture that’s exactly the opposite of boring, beige Melton Grove.

“Yeah, I bet I’d love it.” My voice is rising. “But I’ll never know, right, Mom? Because I don’t fit into your plans.”

“Zaine, listen to me. It’s just better if you stay with Aunt Sarah a bit longer because —”

I can’t listen any more. I slam the phone down. I’m shaking and the white wall is tilting in front of my eyes.

Then I realize something. Even after what just happened on the phone, I still want Mom to come back. As pissed off as I am, if she were to phone back and say she’s changed her mind, I’d still move in with her in a heartbeat. How pathetic is that?

Aunt Sarah steps into the living room. She’s twisting a faded yellow tea towel between her hands. “I’m sorry, Zaine,” she says. “Beth has always been . . .” she pauses. “She’s always just been Beth.”

I’m trying to process what she means by that, when I remember something Aunt Sarah said earlier. You’ll have to tell him yourself.

“You already knew,” I say. “And she wanted you to tell me. She wanted you to do her dirty work for her.”

I know that it isn’t Aunt Sarah’s fault. Still, a hot, dark rage is filling my head. I must have been louder than I realized because Lawson is standing in the doorway. He’s rubbing his eyes and his lips are trembling. I need to leave before this turns any uglier. I slam the wall with both hands. Then I bolt toward the door.

The last thing I hear as I sprint down
the driveway is Lawson crying and calling
my name.