The door clicks downstairs a second before my mom calls my name, and my stomach seizes so hard that I feel ill. I look at my window, considering climbing down the ladder after Tiny as the lesser of two crappy conversations, but before I can make a decision, Mom’s standing in my doorway.
“August?” There’s disappointment in her eyes, which only makes everything worse. Her expression moves from a frown to concern and back again.
“Did you need something?” I ask. Either she’ll bring up the punch or she won’t. And truthfully, I’m not convinced she will. The deepest talk we’ve had these past couple years was when she told me I should return my dad’s phone call and I said I didn’t see the point.
“What I need is to understand.” When I don’t respond, she continues, “What happened today at the Kellermans’?”
“Nothing,” I say dismissively.
“Then why did Kyle come home holding a bruised face that he instructed me to ask you about,” she says in a mom tone I haven’t heard in a long time.
But instead of answering her I say, “Did you get fired?” because it’s the only thing I want to know, the consequence that I’ve been dreading for the past two hours.
Her eyebrows push together. “No. Kyle didn’t mention you to his parents.”
So what, am I supposed to be grateful to him? ’Cause that’s never happening.
“Am I right to assume you actually hit him, August?” She looks so disappointed that I almost snap, asking her what she thought was going to happen when she told me to go there today.
Blood rushes to my cheeks. “He’s alive. He’ll get over it.” Only it doesn’t sound confident the way I intend.
Her deepening concern makes her hard to look at. “That’s not who you are. You’re not the type to punch someone. Help me understand what’s going on with you because I’m at a loss. Did he say something? Do something?”
I shake my head, glancing at my cat’s weirdly hairless belly to find an anchor.
“So you just hit him for no reason? I don’t believe that.”
I keep my eyes down.
“Talk to me, August.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Anything. Say what you feel.” But when I don’t, she sighs. “Help me understand.”
You can’t.
I shake my head again.
Her shoulders drop. “Then I guess I have no choice but to ground you.”
My head whips up. “You can’t ground me. I have work.”
“Work and home and that’s it. And I want to see a schedule from your boss.”
I stand up, feeling trapped and backed into an impossible corner. “A schedule from my boss? You don’t even know what I do.” And I don’t want her to, but that’s not the point. If I really were a caterer, she still wouldn’t know anything other than I work a lot. “All that matters to you is that when things get hard, I’m the one who keeps our electric from being shut off. I’m the reason we haven’t lost this house. You can’t suddenly decide to be a concerned parent. It’s not a job you can pop in and out of. And no one grounds their kid who’s about to go to college. That might have worked two years ago, but it’s an empty threat now.”
The pained look on her face makes me regret my words, however true they might be. And all of a sudden, I need out. Away from Kyle and Tiny and my mom. Anywhere but here.
I pick up my phone and walk past her. All her talk about understanding and grounding halts to silence, and she doesn’t try to stop me.