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going to make an appointment for you to talk to someone about this.”
    “Mom,” I say, “you really don’t have to do that. I’m fine. I don’t need to talk to anyone at school, it’s only going to make things worse.”
    “Not at school.” She’s still staring out the windshield at our garage door. “A counselor or a psychiatrist.”
    Heat rushes to my face, and a lump rises in my throat. I’m about to fight her on it, but instead, I step out of the car.
    “And I meant what I said about you not seeing Campbell.”
    I don’t answer. Instead, I slam the car door and head into the house.

Chapter Six

    Campbell
    The ride back to Santa Anna is long, and since I have no car, my dad had to drive me, which hasn’t made him the happiest camper. He’s not very friendly on his best day, so the car ride has been mostly quiet. Once or twice we attempted to make small talk about football or school, but the conversation would die out after a few exchanges back and forth. I’d like to say it doesn’t bother me, but that wouldn’t be true.
    He knew I was taking Natalia to the hospital, knew she couldn’t remember anything, and yet except for a quick “How’s your girlfriend doing?” when I got back to his house, he hasn’t asked me a thing about her. I can’t help but wish that I had at least one parent I could talk to if I need help. Instead I have a drunk for a mom, and a dad that forgets I exist except when I can come work for him at his business during the summer.
    We pull up in front of my house and most of the lights are off. My dad leaves the car running and doesn’t say anything.
    I let out a long sigh. “Her car’s here so she must be home.”
    “I guess I can figure out what that means,” he says with disgust.
    I look at him. His eyes are hard, unforgiving. I want to ask him why he married her if he hates her so much. And then I wonder if his hatred for her extends to me for some reason. But I don’t say any of that. I know he wouldn’t answer me.
    “Well, thanks for the ride.”
    He grunts and nods his head.
    I get out of the truck and he’s gone before I even hit the front door.
    My mom’s probably going to be pissed off at me for leaving like I did, going away for nearly three days. But she’ll get over it. She always does. Whatever crap I pull, she never stays mad at me for too long.
    When I get inside, I flip on the hallway lights. “Mom?”
    No answer. I walk into the kitchen. The light is on over the oven and there’s a pan of macaroni and cheese on the stove. It looks old, like it’s been sitting for hours and hours.
    “Hello?” I call again, louder this time.
    Still no answer. I go into the living room and there she is. Even after so many times of seeing her like this, I still feel the same sense of revulsion and surprise.
    The TV is on, but the sound is off, so it’s just pictures flashing in the darkened room. My mom’s sprawled out on the sofa, looking like a doll that’s been carelessly tossed aside. She’s wearing a gray, tattered nightgown and one of her legs hangs over the side of the couch. Her face is turned to the wall, mouth open, and she’s snoring softly.
    There’s got to be at least six or seven empty bottles of wine on the coffee table.
    “Mom, wake up.” I walk over and shake her roughly.
    She doesn’t stir at first, so I shake her shoulder again.
    Finally, her eyes roll and she sits up with a start. “Cam. Honey.”
    “You passed out.”
    “I’m sorry, I just got so tired.”
    “You mean you just got so drunk.”
    “Don’t be like that.” She rubs her face and sits up a little straighter. “What time is it?”
    “Too late to deal with this crap.”
    “I made some macaroni and cheese. You should have something to eat. How was practice?”
    I just stare at her, realizing we’ve hit a new low. She has no idea I’ve been gone.
    “Practice was awesome, Mom. Thanks for asking.”
    “Good.” She’s barely listening to me. She stands up and walks