Debbi looks like she hasn’t slept at all. Her face is white and set, and dark-purple shadows bruise under her eyes

T

his is a terrible idea. This is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea.

“Let the record show,” I say, stealing a line from Libby, “that I do not support this idea. At all. I think it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie. Forever. Ma will forget about it, no one was hurt, it was a mistake. Why on earth would you want to mix that into our relationship? Imagine Ma suspends you. You’ll never want to come over again.”

Truthfully, I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t want to be friends ever again, my house or hers, but that sentiment is just for my deep-down insecurities; no need to share that with the audience.

I can almost see Debbi shrug. “I don’t care. I just feel like this is something I need to do, okay? I was talking to Zeesy and she said she agrees with me.”

Oh, well that just puts me in a bad (okay, let’s face it, worse) mood.

“Well, if Zeesy says so, Zeesy must be right,” I say snarkily. “Forget that she’s my mother and I’ve known her since the day I was born.”

“Are you done?”

I blush. “Yeah, sorry.”

“So, will you come with me?”

My brain is having trouble computing. “I’m sorry, come with you where?”

Debbi sighs loudly. “To your mother. To confess.”

Oh. Oh!