For some reason I start thinking about the time I asked my mom for a tent, which is all-time Amber-and-her-mom moment number four: When I was maybe seven or so, I saw this sitcom on television where the mom and daughter spend the night in the backyard. The little girl gets a tent for her birthday and then she wants to sleep outside instead of her room, so the mom sets up the tent for her, and they have these great times pretending that they are explorers pioneering across America back when it was inhabited by Native Americans, back in the day. It looked like fun, so I begged my mom for a tent.

Mom didn't get me a tent, but she made me one out of blankets and broom handles one summer night and we attempted to camp behind the apartment complex we were living in at the time, back when Mom was with a different boyfriend, Trevor, who was only around for a few months or so.

By flashlight, Mom and I read books I had checked out of the library, and then she told me silly ghost stories before we went to sleep.

I woke up in the middle of the night feeling some sorta slime on my face.

"Mom?" I whispered. "Mom?"

"What's wrong?" she said.

"I think there's something on my face."

"Go back to sleep," Mom said.

"I really really think there is something on my face. Can you check?"

Mom turned on the flashlight and started to scream.

I sat up and started to scream.

There were slugs all over the inside of the blanket tent, all over our sheets, and a few were even on us.

Both of us ran out of the tent, and we couldn't stop screaming.

Eventually, the cops showed up with their guns drawn, because someone reported a disturbance.

We were so freaked that we couldn't even talk.

Mom just pointed to the tent.

The cops actually aimed their guns at the tent and started to talk very mean to the slugs. "You're surrounded. Come out with your hands up. We can resolve this peacefully."

It was pretty funny to hear the cops talking to slugs like that, so I started to laugh.

The cops didn't like that, and started questioning us, and soon they understood that they had drawn their guns on a tent full of slugs, so they had to laugh too.

After Mom had explained the situation, she offered to buy the cops a cup of coffee to make up for the misunderstanding, and when they agreed, we got to ride in the cop car. I asked the officers if they would put on the lights and sirens, and they said, "Sure."

We rode super fast to the all-night doughnut shop, where Mom flirted with the cops and I got to eat doughnuts in the middle of the night, which was pretty killer.

When the cops dropped us off back at the apartment building, we went inside and, since Trevor had to work in the morning, Mom slept in my bed with me, which was really nice, especially since the bed felt so comfortable after trying to sleep outside on the gra.s.s for a night.

What I wouldn't do to be in a bed tonight.

In the present moment, after taking BBB out for one last pee worrying the whole time that the local rapist murderer will get me, back on h.e.l.lo Yellow-even though I really don't feel like it-I force myself to pray for everyone on my list, asking G.o.d to help us all be who we need to be. And I pray really hard, even though I can't feel G.o.d tonight, and I wonder if He is mad at me or something, which makes me feel as though maybe my day wasn't so kick-a.s.s after all.

I'm cold without the comforter, but BBB keeps me warm-his little body inhaling and exhaling against my chest-and I eventually fall asleep.

When I wake, I cannot remember my dreams-but Mom is outside smoking a Newport, and everything begins once again.

PART TWO.

Freak Scene.

CHAPTER 8.

After another frickin' freezing night in h.e.l.lo Yellow, my b.u.t.t has finally thawed and is now all nice and toasty. I'm singing in the back of Donna's Mercedes. Again, heated leather seats. So nice.

We're listening to Dinosaur Jr.'s "Freak Scene," which is my favorite D. Jr. song, pretty much because it is also Donna's favorite, and I like watching her sing it like a teenager.

Donna is driving too fast, bobbing her head to the beat, singing all of the lyrics at the top of her lungs, her hands pounding out the beat on the steering wheel as Ricky counts inaudibly.

I think it's funny that Donna listens to songs about freaks, because she is so cool and hip and stylish and smart and together and she is definitely what every woman wants to be as far as I'm concerned-certainly not a freak like me.

Maybe she just listens to music like this so she can relate to her son Ricky and The Five.

Maybe.

But she is rocking pretty d.a.m.n hard this morning-so much that she even blows through a stop sign, but I don't say anything, because I don't want to kill the mood, which is totally rocking, and how often does one truly get to rock out hard-core? Let alone a high-powered attorney who has a murder case to worry about. Sometimes you just have to let c.r.a.p slide when it comes to adults acting like kids, because that can be a beautiful thing. True? True.

When we arrive alive at the high school, Donna kills the music, kisses Ricky, and tosses me the XXL camo shirt for Franks.

"Your boy Franks should be proud today," Donna says, and then winks at me before she turns up the tunes again and pulls away.

"Going to play Halo 3 with Mr. Jonathan Franks!" Ricky says, and then we're knocking on the outside bas.e.m.e.nt door.

Ty kicks open the door this morning, and then Franks and Chad kill off Ty's and Jared's s.p.a.cemen so that Ricky can join the action-just like every other morning.

Before I lose my boys to video games, I say, "Franks, check this out," and then hold up the camo shirt.

"For me?" Franks says.

"Mommy Roberts made a shirt for Mr. Jonathan Franks and all five members of Franks Freak Force Federation!"

"Cool," Franks says, taking the shirt from me, admiring the orange lettering and rubbing the material between his thumb and forefinger as if the shirt were made of precious fabric-like it's the original American flag sewn by frickin' Betsy Ross or something. "Very cool," Franks says.

"You do see that we are all wearing the same shirt?" I say.

"Also cool," Franks says.

"We playing a game, or what?" Ty says, and then all of the boys are logging into the virtual world.

Did my boys forget all about last night, or did they already discuss the school board meeting with Franks?

Before I can bring up the subject, just before their minds are sucked into the various Xboxes positioned around the room, Lex Pinkston knocks on the hallway door and sticks his head in. "Um, Mr. Franks, may I come in and say something?"

"Mr. Pinkston, all students are welcome in my room. Enter."

Lex enters slowly. He is tall and full of muscles and dumb-looking, but today he has this very sincere look on his face. "Listen," he says to the room. "Sometimes I say dumb things because I like feel I have to in front of people or something because there's a lot of pressure on me, being that I'm the QB and all, and well, I know that what I've been telling Ricky to say is well, um-not cool."

"Are you trying to apologize?" I say.

"I'm sorry that I said those things to you, Amber."

"I'm praying for you every night," I say.

"Why?"

"Because you need it."

"Well, I'm also sorry for telling Ricky to say those things to Ryan. I'm sorry, and it won't happen again. Okay?"

"Did your daddy make you come down here this morning?" I ask-like a total cat.

"Listen, I said I was sorry. It won't happen again. Okay?"

"No. It's not okay, because you can't just erase-"

"Do you like playing Xbox, Lex?" Franks says.

"What?" Lex says.

"Are you a gamer?" Franks says. "Do you like video games?"

"Yeah. Who doesn't?"

"Are you any good at Halo 3?" Franks asks.

"Beat anyone in this room," Lex says.

My boys all exchange glances and restrain smiles.

"Why don't you play a game with us," Franks says.

"Right now?"

"Homeroom doesn't start for fifteen minutes."

"Are you serious?" Lex says.

"You're on Ricky's team," Franks says. "Amber, why don't you pull up a chair?"

I pull up a chair next to Franks and for the next ten minutes I watch my boys' virtual s.p.a.cemen kick the c.r.a.p out of Lex's virtual s.p.a.ceman in every way imaginable. If I had to guesstimate, I'd say Lex gets killed an average of five times per minute, and never even records one kill.

My boys are unmerciful.

My boys are triumphant.

My boys are beautiful.

"You guys are really good," Lex says when the game is over.

"Bring your friends next time," Franks tells him. "We play every day before school and at lunch. All are welcome."

When the warning bell rings, my boys skedaddle like someone yelled fire or something-the lab rats-but I hang back.

"Why did you tell Lex he could hang in our room?" I ask Franks.

"This is everyone's room. All are welcome," Franks says.

"Lex Pinkston? Do you know that just yesterday he called me a disgusting single-syllable word for a woman, which I'm not even going to repeat?"

"Maybe if he were in this room more, he wouldn't have called you that name. Maybe you'd become friends?"

"Are you for real, Franks?"

"No, I'm an illusion," he says, and then laughs at his own joke-like a moron.

"Have you heard how the school board voted last night?"

"No."

He doesn't bring up our saving his job, so I a.s.sume my boys didn't tell him.

"Aren't you worried about the vote?" I ask.

"It's of this world."

"Your wife was pretty p.i.s.sed when I came to your house last night."

"You shouldn't come to my house, Amber."

"She doesn't really think I'm in love with you, does she? Why can't I hug you, Franks? Just once."

"Why do you do that? Why do you insist on making me feel uncomfortable whenever we are alone?"

"A hug is a good thing, Franks."