I look up to find her head half turned, her lips pursed. “What did I mean with what?”
“The part about teenagers seeing and feeling more than they are given credit for.”
This might be the first time she’s talked to me in a week. “I … was just … saying it how it is, I guess.”
“Is something going on at school that I need to know about?”
“No. Other than what you already know.”
She frowns in thought. “You mean … with the football players pushing that Toby kid around?”
“Yeah.”
She gazes at the glove box, thinking some more. “Hmm,” is all she says back.
Another moment passes. I take a breath, then decide to see her question as an olive branch of sorts. “But it’s nothing to worry about,” I go on to assure her. “I stick by Toby’s side, now. No one messes with him. And no one messes with me, either.”
She says nothing at first, still staring at the glove box. Then she turns her head halfway back to me, and the look in her eyes is soft. “You both were cast in the play together? Is that true?”
“Yep.”
She nods slowly in acknowledgement. “Well, sounds like Toby is … sure lucky to have you for a friend.”
I feel my posture stiffen up proudly. “I’m the lucky one.”
She doesn’t smile, but her voice seems to when she responds with another simple, musical, “Hmm.”
A few minutes later, my dad returns, and off we go the rest of the way home. My dad who apparently pep-talked himself inside the corner store, considering his change in attitude, makes a few comments about the mayor and how it will be an uphill battle for Nadine Strong, but he isn’t worried. After the election is won—assuming the rumors are true and Nadine is running against him—we will be in good graces with the mayor himself, and isn’t that just the most lovely thing? “He’s someone we want in our pockets!” I swallow a snide remark about whether my dad intends the mayor to be in our pocket, or if he intends to be in the mayor’s.
After returning home, I get myself a glass of water from the kitchen, then make my way for the stairs, intending to finish up my homework before heading off to Biggie’s. My mother’s voice stops me. “Donovan.” She stands by the coatrack in the entryway holding her purse, a mirror at her back. My dad already vanished into the bedroom, likely to change into something more relaxed.
I rest a hand on the railing. “Mom.”
She calmly lifts her eyebrows. “You going out tonight again?” I nod. “To see your friend Toby?” I nod again. She takes a breath, twitches, then reaches into her purse and takes out a set of keys.
My motorcycle keys.
“I realize I made an error in judgment,” she tells me. “What you did your first day of school, it was reckless, it was unnecessary and not a good first impression to make of yourself in a new town, and I do not condone it.” She takes a measured breath. “However, I must also consider its intent. You, in fact, were acting … nobly.”
I don’t think I’ve blinked since she started speaking. “Nobly?”
“I’m not giving you back your bike as a reward for anything. I want to be clear: I still do not agree with your behavior, whether it was noble or otherwise. But I see an improvement in you. I see you making many efforts in ways I doubt you even realize I notice. I do notice. I’m proud, for instance, that you’ve decided to get involved with a play this year. I … worried I wouldn’t get to see you perform on a stage again, not after New York.”
My eyes drop to the keys dangling between her fingers. “Don’t get too excited. I doubt the bar’s set all that high here in this town for quality of theatre.”
Inexplicably, my mother chuckles at my remark. “Well, still, it’s something I look forward to seeing. And … this Toby kid.” She clicks her tongue, then crosses her arms. “He’s a nice young man, I hear. Well-balanced. Sweet. An artist like you.”
My heart warms, hearing those things. “Yeah.”
“And I hear he’s gay as well.” She gives me a look. “Is there … something there, too?”
She and I used to be so much more open about this up in New York—until she realized most of the boys I brought home, I never seemed to bring home again. Short attention spans, remember?
I shrug. “There might be something there. Too soon to tell.”
“Well.” She shrugs exactly as I do. Where else do I get it from? “I’m glad you’ve made a friend anyway.” Then she gives me her signature look, eyebrows raised. “I still expect you to do your part moving forward, Donovan. No more mishaps like that first day, I’m warning you, no matter your intent, or the football boys, or what-have-you. We’re going to be working closely with the mayor, and it’s important that we keep up our face here.” She lifts the keys at me, like I’m a cat ready to playfully bat my paws at it. “You just keep in mind our golden rule. People—”