Queer bent bastard

After we finished talking to the principal, I went up to my room and flopped onto my bed. It wasn’t even noon yet and I felt exhausted. Mom came up to see if I was okay and I told her I was; I was just tired. After about three hours, I finally made my way to the kitchen for a snack. It would have been nice if it had been three hours of uninterrupted sleep, but Mom woke me up every forty-five minutes or so because she was afraid I might have had a concussion, even though the doctor said I didn’t. When I walked in, Mom was busy as usual, baking something that smelled delicious. I poured myself a coffee and got to sample some extraordinary apple crisp, right out of the oven, to go with it. Mom poured herself a coffee and sat down with me.

“Feeling better?” she asked.

“Actually, yeah,” I replied. “It’s not every day your best friend turns against you and you get hit by a car, but yeah, all things considered, I feel okay.”

“The last couple of days haven’t been too good to you, have they honey?” she said.