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"She and Burke broke up."

"They broke up? When? Why? How?"

My mom lives for this stuff. It was her birthday, so I decided to throw her a juicy bone. Besides, I thought she should know how disgusting my former fake friends really were. Then she might get off my case for not hanging out with them anymore.

"It all started when Manda had sex with Burke while Bridget was in L.A.…"

And I told her the whole sordid story. When I finished, she was dumbstruck.

"I don’t believe it."

"It’s true."

"That poor girl," my mom said. "Such a pretty girl home alone on homecoming night."

Homecoming again. Jesus Christ! I was barely keeping it together.

"She’s not home alone," I said, my throat tightening. "She flew to her dad’s for the Thanksgiving weekend because her mom had to work."

"We should’ve invited her out with us," she said. "It would have been fun! Just like the old days …"

That was it. The end.

"You’re right," I shouted, throwing my napkin on the table in disgust. "How could I have been so stupid. I should’ve rented Bridget out for your birthday! Rent-a-Daughter. So you wouldn’t have to go through the torture of walking around with me."

"Keep your voice down!"

"I’m outta here!" I screamed.

The thing about making a dramatic exit is this: It helps when you have a way of getting beyond the parking lot. I hadn’t thought to swipe my mom’s keys, or grab my backpack so I could call a cab. I was stuck. I had to resort to sitting on a bench outside the entrance until my mom came out.

I heard her heels clicking on the floor before I saw her. She walked right past me and straight to the car. I followed her. She unlocked the door to let me in, so she wasn’t going to drive away without me.

"Do you want to tell me what that was all about?"

Part of me did. And part of me didn’t.

"I’m not leaving here until you give me an explanation."

I couldn’t tell if she meant it or not, but I felt like every second in that car took a year off my life.

"I …"

When I opened my mouth to talk, I had fully intended on only telling her enough to make her put the key in the ignition and drive home. But once I started, I couldn’t stop.

"I … feel like you only want to be with me if I can be someone else, someone beautiful like Bethany or Bridget. And I feel like Dad only wants to be with me if I can be like the star athlete he wanted his son to be. It’s like when I try to be me, you’re not happy with who that person is. You’re constantly trying to talk me out of my feelings or make me feel bad for thinking differently than you do. I’m sorry I’m not popular and born to shop and I don’t have a ton of boyfriends like Bethany. I’m sorry that Matthew died and Dad never got to coach him! But that’s not my fault! And I’m sick and tired of you both taking it out on me! "

Tears were streaming down both our faces when I finished. I didn’t know if my mom was going to hug me or hit me.

"Jessie," she said. "I had … no idea … you …" She then wrapped her arms around me and started stroking my hair. Her body was soft and warm and as comforting as it was when I was kid.

She released me and held my face in her hands. "I don’t want you to be Bethany. And your father doesn’t want you to be …" She couldn’t bring herself to say his name. "… anyone but you. Neither one of us does."

"It doesn’t feel that way," I said.

"I understand Bethany better than I understand you. She was no picnic, but she was definitely less …" She cocked her head to the side, trying to find the right word. "Less complicated than you. And as a parent, I sometimes can’t help but think that things would be easier if I had two children like her. But then you wouldn’t be you."

"And what a joy it is for us all that I am."

"You have to stop saying things like that," she said. "I know things are hard for you right now. And I know I’ll never quite understand why. But I think these difficulties are going to make you a much better person in the long run."

"But why do some people, like Bethany, seem to coast right on through high school