“Hey! Watch out!” Bianca said, stepping back quickly and facing her mother. She was pale, dark circles showing under her eyes as she pulled off her stocking cap and tossed it onto the table next to the gloves. “What’s your problem?”
“Exactly what I was going to ask you.”
“I said I’m sick. Duh!” She glared at her mother as if Pescoli were as dense as tar and certainly not as interesting.
“You didn’t call me, and you didn’t come home.”
“I hung out at Chris’s.”
“Instead of going to school?” Pescoli stepped back, allowing Bianca access to the refrigerator again.
“I was sick.” She pulled out a can of Diet Coke and pulled the tab. Pop. Ssst.
“And when you are sick, the protocol is to phone me and let me know that you need to A”—she held up a finger—“come home, or B . . .” She held up a second finger. “Go to the doctor. There are no other options.”
“I could call Dad.” Bianca took a swig from her can.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“ ’Cuz it wasn’t an option, I guess.” Another swallow of cola.
“Nor was going over to your boyfriend’s house. Were Chris’s parents home?”
“No. Duh. They work.”
“Precisely.”
“It’s not like I need a babysitter.”
“I’m not sure,” Pescoli said. “So what did you do?”
Her daughter’s eyebrows drew together. “Hung out. What did you think? Oh, God, I know. You think we were having sex or something.”
Pescoli’s insides curdled. “Yeah, I think that when you’re alone with your boyfriend for hours, lying to everyone about where you are, that you could be getting yourself into some serious trouble!” She heard the accusations in her voice and dialed it back a bit. “Okay . . . listen . . . tell me, what were you doing? I know, I know, about the ‘hanging out’ part, but let’s get a little more specific.”
“We watched TV, played video games, rented a movie.... It was no big deal.”
“Except that you were supposed to be in school,” Pescoli said, keeping her voice low and serious. “It was a big deal, Bianca. A very big deal. I don’t know what’s going on between you and Chris, but I do know that whatever it is, it’s not worth cutting school and getting behind in your classes.”
“You’re so ridiculous! I just watched some movies!” She started huffing her way out of the kitchen, trying to act like she was affronted. Pescoli caught her elbow as she passed and spun her around.
Nose-to-nose with the fifteen-year-old, she said, “We’re not talking about me, Bianca. Don’t try to deflect. This is about you, your behavior, consequences, and yeah, the rest of your life. Because you seem intent on messing it up.”
“Just get off my case!”
“Nuh-uh. Not for a few more years.”
Bianca yanked her arm back. “I could call Child Services on you! You can’t touch me.”
“Is that what Chris told you?”
“You can’t touch me!”
Pescoli reached for the phone, grabbed the receiver, and held it close to her daughter’s face. “Take it. Call. See what happens. If they believe you, they’ll remove you from this home, and where will you go? To your dad’s? To a foster family? Is tha