RAFE KHATCHADORIAN, WORST SON EVER

All the way home, from Cathedral until we were driving up Killarney Avenue, Mom didn’t say one word to me.

Not one word.

I guess I was supposed to talk first, but I couldn’t think of anything good to say. “I’m sorry” just doesn’t cut it when you’re in trouble for the third, fourth, fifth… or hundred and twenty-seventh time, like me. So I just sat there and tried not to freeze to death.

Finally, after Mom found a parking spot near the house and turned off the car, I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Mom, I’m really sorry,” I said. “I really, really am.” (See? Totally lame, but I had to say something.)

“Sorry for getting caught?” Mom said. “Or for taking that sculpture in the first place?”

“Both,” I said, before I realized that the right answer was “Sorry for taking that sculpture in the first place.”

Oops.

“I mean—”

“It’s not just that I’m angry, Rafe,” she said. “I’m also really disappointed. After everything that happened last year, I was hoping Cathedral could be a fresh start for you. I guess it hasn’t worked out that way, has it?”

I shook my head. I was feeling worse about this by the second.

“Maybe I don’t belong at Cathedral,” I said. “That’s what everyone else thinks.”

“Everyone?” Mom said.

“All the best artists, anyway. Like Zeke McDonald and his friends.”

Mom took a deep breath. “Rafe, look at me,” she said, so I did. “Has it ever occurred to you that those other students might feel threatened by you?”

Now I wanted to laugh. “Threatened?”

“Trust me—you’re not the only kid walking around Cathedral wondering if you’re good enough. Art is a competitive world, even in middle school. But if this is the way you’re going to deal with your fellow artists, then maybe you’re right. Maybe you shouldn’t be there.”

“No!” I said right away. “I want to be in art school.”

She smiled, just a tiny bit. “I thought so,” she said, and for about a tenth of a second, it seemed like she was done being mad.

Wrong.

“So here’s the deal,” she told me. “You’re grounded until further notice. You’ll go to school, you’ll come home, you’ll do your homework. That’s it. When Christmas break starts next week, you’ll be staying home as well. You won’t be going anywhere unless it’s with me.”

“Until further notice?” I said.

“That’s right,” Mom said.

In other words, she hadn’t even decided how mad she was yet. This could go on anywhere from a couple of days… to infinity.

See, it wasn’t just Zeke’s sculpture that got broken that day. I’d also broken Mom’s trust, and maybe for the last time. Because after this, I didn’t think she’d ever trust me again.

I mean, would you?