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left them messages to call her after seven when she’d been home—which she wasn’t.
    I acted like Mom’s assistant and thanked them for returning her call. Between
    phone calls I found the list of people she’d called and what she wanted them to volunteer.
    I convinced the next called—the owner of a fancy bakery—to donate pastries for a dessert party for thirty people.
    When I went back to the table, I told Dada bout my idea for big pictures of shelter animals at the benefit and asked him if he knew a photographer who might take pictures for free. He said he’s make a few calls after dinner. “It might help your mother,” he concluded.
    I could tell he was discouraged about Mom, but he didn’t say anything more to
    me about her.
    Next, I told him about the email from Zeke. “He’s not coming home,” Dad said.
    He looked at me over the rim of his coffee cup and raised an eyebrow. “I’m not raising my kids to be quitters.”
    What he meant was, “ Quitters like you .”
    I decided it wasn’t the best time to remind Dad that I won’t be home tomorrow
    night. That I had a Vanish rehearsal.
    11:30 P.M.
    Mom just came in. I can hear her and Dad arguing in the living room. I’m no
    going to go downstairs. I’ll go over her messages with her in the morning. I hope she’s not too hung over to deal with it.
    Wednesday 7/22
    10:09 P.M.
    Rehearsal was terrible. I mean, I was terrible. Everyone else played great, but my voice sounded weak and lifeless.
    During the break, Rico took me aside and asked me to put more energy into my
    singing.
    After Rico talked to me, Amalia came over. “Are you okay?” she asked.
    “Sure,” I answered. “I know I’m not singing well tonight. The band is getting
    better and better. I’m not. I’m the opposite.”
    “You’re just having an off night,” Amalia said. “You don’t seem to be
    concentrating on the lyrics.”
    “I know.”
    I didn’t tell her that if I concentrated on some of the lyrics, like the ones for
    “Fallen Angel,” I would burst into tears.
    Amalia took the diet soda out of my hand and handed me one of the big chocolate chip cookies she’s made for rehearsal. “Eat this,” she ordered “And have a glass of milk.”
    I put the cookie down. “I don’t like sweets,” I told her.
    “What do you like to eat?” Amalia asked. “I never see you eating. The rest of us stuff our faces and you nibble on practically nothing. Maybe you don’t eat enough, you look awfully thin.”
    “Me, thin?” I said. “That’s a joke.” I didn’t like the way I sounded when I said that. But Amalia irritated me.
    Why can’t everyone just leave me alone?
    “Let’s put in another hour,” called Rico. “And you’re all invited to stay for dinner.
    Mom and I made Spanish rice, black beans, and dried bananas.”
    Everyone cheered.
    Everyone but me.
    “His mother is the best cook,” Amalia whispered. “And Rico takes after her. This will be a feast!”
    “I have to go home right after rehearsal,” I lied.
    Amalie asked how I would get home.
    “My dad or someone will pick me up,” I told her. “It’s not a problem.”
    I was really annoyed with Amalia now. MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS, is what
    I wanted to say.
    I didn’t sing any better after the break.
    I couldn’t concentrate on the lyrics. Too many thoughts and questions were going through my head.
    will Little Guy live?
    Will the two photographers I called today call back? Will we have the posters made in time for the benefit?
    Is Zeke horribly homesick? I better send him an email tonight.
    It my mother out drinking? I should have stayed home tonight and helped with the auction.
    Is Dad still angry with me for quitting my job? I have to make up with him.
    Can I ever be good enough to place my father?
    Why hadn’t Justin talked to me tonight? Is he sorry he asked me out on a “date”?
    What can I wear for our so-called date so I don’t look like a big, fat slob?
    Justin finally talked to me after