Even without Jack’s heads-up from the day before, I’d have known something was stewing the moment Mr. Parks stepped into the room for our lunchtime session. To say he had a hands-off style of managing us was one big whomp of an understatement.

“If I could have everyone’s attention.”

He got it, all right.

Mr. Parks sat on top of a desk with his feet propped up on the attached seat. “Given a recent opportunity to earn university credit, Jack has decided to step down as editor in chief.”

Murmurs of surprise whistled through the room.

“We’re not losing him,” Mr. Parks said with a fanning of his palms-down hands. “He just won’t be in charge anymore.”

“Who will?” Pedro asked.

“I imagine —” Mr. Parks began.

“I’d like to apply,” Pedro interrupted.

“What?” Penny said, jumping up from her seat. “I’m the assistant editor.”

“But I’m a senior,” Pedro said. “The editor in chief has always been a senior.”

Mr. Parks scratched his stubbly chin, obviously not pleased to miss his lunch or be embroiled in a tug-of-war. “Tell you what,” he said. “You two write me up your first Letter from the Editor, and I’ll decide based on merit.” Mr. Parks slid off the desk. “Sound fair to everyone?”

Penny and Pedro exchanged looks, and both shrugged. The room got library-quiet. Jack stuck his nose back into the stack of articles he had in front of him. I didn’t know where to look or what to say; I got busy on idyllic set designs for The Snow Queen. Though idyllic was hardly the way I’d have described the scene before me.

After the bell, Penny followed me to my locker.

“Can you believe that?” she asked.

“Crazy,” I said.

“Is it just me, or has the guy changed lately?”

I honestly didn’t know which “guy” she was talking about.

“Why would he burn me like that?” she asked.

The fact that she took the burn personally tipped the scales toward Pedro.

“And he can forget about me lending him my chem notes for the test tomorrow.”

Phew. Definitely Pedro. Penny looked at me as if expecting a reply. I’d only known him a few months, so I didn’t have many back issues to reference. Besides, the only safe place in a boy-girl spat was Switzerland: clean air, mountaintop views, and neutral.

“Is that test tomorrow?”

“I’m home,” I called, hanging my coat on a hook.

No answer.

I walked through to the kitchen. “Mom?” She wasn’t there or in the family room.

Stanley appeared on the steps. “She’s upstairs.”

“What did the doctor say?”

Stanley leaned his forearms against the kitchen island. “Her blood pressure is up. Her potassium counts are dangerously low. The doctor recommends bed rest for the time being.”

“Bed rest?”

“Just for a while.”

“Is she awake?” I asked.

“She’s awake. I warn you, though. She’s working on a to-do list . . . for both of us.”

If Stanley could joke about my mom’s neat-freakin’ ways, it couldn’t be all bad — nevertheless, I trudged up the staircase with a bad feeling.

“You’re home,” my mom said, popping a pretzel Goldfish into her mouth with one hand while jotting notes with the other.

“Bad news, huh?” My mom was not the lounge-around type.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” she said, ripping a page from a notebook.

“We” had a long list of chores, the first of which was to make her a tuna melt.