“Mrs. Morrison, this type of situation is extremely serious. We have to take precautions to ensure it never happens again.”

“Happen again? No, he won’t do it again. We talked about it. He’s better.”

Mom turns to me, offering a slight smile before turning back to Dr. Garza. “I’ll take care of him. He’s my son.”

“Okay. I’ve prescribed some medication that Thomas needs to take every day. I’ll see you two next week, right?”

“Yes, thank you.” Mom shakes Dr. Garza’s hand before grabbing my arm and pulling me out of the building. “I honestly don’t understand, Tommy,” she says as we walk to the car.

I don’t say anything back. I don’t understand either. I don’t understand anything.

“Will you be okay to stay home alone? Do I need to stay with you? I have to go to work, you know that,” she tells me. “I shouldn’t have to look after you like a child.”

I want to tell her that it’s her job to look after me—that I’m still a child, her child—but instead, I just say, “I’m sorry.”

As we drive home, the familiar surroundings make me nauseous. “You’ve been taking care of Tabby, right, Mom?” I ask.

“Yes, I’ve been taking care of Tabby. She’s getting fatter; I think she needs a diet.”

“She doesn’t need a diet. You must be feeding her too much.”

“I don’t feed her too much. She must be getting into the cat food while I’m at work.”

I don’t bother arguing because I know I’ll always lose.

When we pull into the driveway, the neighbors are outside their house with pans of food, flowers, and gifts. You’d think someone had died. As soon as I step out of the car, they all rush toward me.

“Thomas! I made you some lasagna.”

“Elizabeth, I’m so sorry.”

“Do you need anything?”

“I’d be glad to babysit while you work.”

“Did you really try to kill yourself, Thomas?”

The last comment catches me off guard, but before I can respond, my mom speaks for me.

“No, of course not! He was just ill. He’s much better now.” She flashes her model smile, or as I call it, her fake smile.

“Thank you, guys,” I say, pushing past the crowd and into the house without grabbing any of the gifts or waiting for Mom. Once I’m inside, I shut the door and close the curtains. “Tabitha? Tabby?” I call out. Immediately, she comes running toward me.

“I missed you so much. I’ll never leave you again.” I pick her up and kiss her orange fur. Then, I walk upstairs and into my room. It’s exactly as I left it. Nothing has changed.

I set Tabitha on my bed and sit on the floor. The sweater I was wearing on the day I left is still there by the bed. I can’t stand looking at everything; there’s no way I can stay here, surrounded by these reminders. I get up and start gathering all the clothes off the floor, along with my sheets and covers.

“What are you doing, Tommy?” Mom asks, stepping into the room.

“I’m cleaning,” I reply.

“What are you cleaning?”

“Everything. This place is rotting with awful memories.”

“You don’t really think that. You grew up here,” she says as she helps me pick up some clothes.

“I’m getting rid of everything. I’ll probably move my room to the basement. You can change this room into a guest room or something. I can’t stay—” I’m rambling when she cuts me off.

“Tommy, look at me,” she says, stopping me in my tracks and gently lifting my chin. “Calm down. You need to relax. I’ll help you change your room when I get back.”

I take a deep breath and nod. “Okay.”

“Mr. Campbell offered to watch you while I’m gone. Just open the door when he knocks.”

“What? I don’t need to be ‘watched.’ I’m fifteen. I can stay home alone for five hours,” I scoff.

“Actually, I’ll be gone for a day or two. I got a call—my agent booked me a photoshoot for a major brand, but it’s far away, so I’ll be staying in a hotel.”

My heart sinks when I hear that. Even though I don’t want to admit it, I know I can’t last a day on my own. “Oh... okay. I guess it’ll be fine if Mr. Campbell comes over.”

“Okay, Tommy. I love you lots, and I’ll see you soon.” She kisses my head, and before I can say goodbye, she’s out the door.

I sigh and toss my laundry into the washer. Then I go back to my room and change out of the too-small clothes they gave me at the hospital. I put on gray sweats and the sweater I got for Christmas when I was eight. It was too big back then, and it’s still too big now. Just as I finish changing, there’s a knock at the door.

“Coming!” I shout, hopping down the stairs. When I open the door, Mr. Campbell is standing there with his son, Elias. We’ve been in the same grade since kindergarten, but we don’t talk. He’s kind of... strange, which is saying something, coming from me.

“Hey, Thomas. Hope you don’t mind, but I brought Elias along. He needs to socialize with actual people.” Mr. Campbell says as he walks in and makes himself at home, laying down on the couch.

“Hi, Thomas. I’m really glad you’re back,” Elias says with an awkward smile, holding out his hand. I shake it, feeling even more awkward.

I hope nobody at school knows what happened. Kids are brutal, and I don’t have time to be made fun of. “Uh, are you guys thirsty?” I ask.

“Yes, glad you asked. Got any beer? No, of course you don’t. I’ll just take wine.”

Mr. Campbell replies. Elias shakes his head.

I smile politely and head to the kitchen. Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Campbell is a great guy. I’ve known him my whole life, but he’s... wild. There’s no nicer way to describe him. Elias looks exactly like him, except for his hair. He dyed it white in the eighth grade, and it’s stayed that way ever since.

You’d think white hair on a fifteen-year-old wouldn’t work, but somehow, it suits him.

I return from the kitchen with a wine glass and a bottle of my mom’s fancy wine—the kind she never drinks. When I walk back into the living room, Mr. Campbell and Elias are sitting on the floor, flipping through a photo album.

“What are you guys doing?”

“Ah, look at this! I remember when Thomas was this tiny.”

I cringe, feeling dread creep over me.

“What’s this?” Elias asks, squinting at the album as he holds it close to his face.

“Let me see!” Mr. Campbell snatches the album and reads aloud, “Tommy Pony?”

The words send a shiver down my spine. I almost drop the wine but manage to set it down on the coffee table before freaking out and snatching the album from them. “What? No!”

They both look at me, confused.

“I remember that nickname! Man, time sure flies. Why did your mom ever stop calling you that?” Mr. Campbell chuckles.

I worked so hard to erase that nickname. I begged my mom to stop calling me that, got rid of everything that had it engraved on it. And now, a stupid photo album has ruined all that work.

I want to say all of this, but instead, I laugh nervously and shrug. “I don’t know.”

“Tommy Pony, huh? Nice.” Elias grins.

I shove the photo album under my arm and excuse myself to my room. I would burn the stupid thing if I were allowed to be around fire. Instead, I hide it under my bed and sit on the floor with my back against it. Tabby jumps into my lap.

“Tommy Pony.” I mutter under my breath. “I hate that name.”