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STRIKE—DAY 10

The day of the show, I woke up ridiculously early and couldn’t get back to sleep. I checked my phone. There were good-luck texts from Cathy, Baxter, and Kevin Kessler. (All kids who barely knew my number a week ago, btw.)

And three missed calls from Lucy Fleck.

I tried to call her back, but it went to voicemail. No doubt she was doing her early morning studying.

I was practicing downward dog on the couch when my mom came in and sat in my dad’s favorite chair. The one he used to sit in when he watched TV with my mom, before I took over the room.

“You’re getting so good at yoga,” she said.

“Usually I do it with Nana, but she’s not back from the city yet.”

“Right.”

My mom picked up a magazine and pretended to read. “Tonight’s the big night,” she said. I noticed how tired she looked and suddenly realized I hadn’t talked to her—I mean, REALLY talked to her—since the whole craziness began.

“Mom?”

She looked up. “Yes, honey?”

“Is everything good with you and Dad?”

“Everything’s just fine, honey.”

“That’s good.” I wanted to keep talking, for some reason. “Do you think Dad is going to, like, hate me forever?”

She put down her magazine. “Jack, you do know your dad loves you more than anything in the world, right?”

“Of course I do.”

“But this is not easy for him,” my mom said. “He has very, very strong beliefs about how to best raise his only child. And now, he’s embarrassed on top of it. He’s becoming known, completely unfairly, as a crazy dad. People are starting to look at him funny, and people at work are poking fun at him. This is not easy for him, you have to know that.”

“I totally know that.” After another second, I asked, “But why can’t he just let me quit some stuff? Why is that so impossible?”

“Because he’s your father,” my mom answered.

I changed to the warrior position. Nana would have been totally impressed. “Well, what do you think?” I asked my mom.

My mom sighed. “I think you’re both crazy.”

I laughed. “That makes sense.”

“I just hope I didn’t make a dumb decision by letting this TV show happen,” she said. “But maybe we need something crazy like this to help us figure things out.”

“Right.”

My mom got up. “I need to go pick up your grandmother at the station.”

I decided to ask the question I’d been thinking about for the last two days.

“When is Dad going to be home?”

My mom stopped and looked at me. “I don’t know if he’s going to make it home tonight, honey. His meetings in Phoenix are still going on.”

“Oh,” I said. For some reason, I was disappointed.

My mom could tell, of course, because that’s what moms do. “But he’ll be home tomorrow,” she said, “and everything will be okay. That’s a promise.”

As she started to walk away, I found myself pulling her back toward the couch and giving her a hug.

“What’s that for?” she asked, surprised.

I looked up at her. “I guess just for understanding,” I said.

My mom hugged me back, and neither one of us said anything for a minute. Finally she let me go.

“If only you were this dedicated to Chinese,” she said.