21
I wake up to the electronic howl of my alarm clock. Bit by bit, I open my eyes and stretch. My pillow’s damp against my cheek. That was one hell of a dreamscape. How do I even begin to talk to Mom about this?
My backpack’s propped against my bedroom wall. I stare at it for a moment. This chat should wait until after school, for both our sakes. I take a deep breath, throw on some sweats and walk into the kitchen. Mom sits at the table, a steaming mug of coffee in her hands. Her mouth is a thin line.
I forgot. I’m in deep trouble.
“Good morning.” I speed across the room and pretend to be super-interested in the cabinet on the opposite wall.
Mom’s fingernails tap her porcelain mug. “What happened to you last night? This had better be good.”
I remember Lincoln’s kisses and smile. It w
