T finally texted me back. The cops had held everybody at the school till about an hour after school was out, making parents sign their kids out. There hasn't been any kind of safety threat at that point, it had been more about liability and controlling media access to witnesses until the city had got its messaging straight.

That messaging had been a lot more subtle than I had predicted. Disgruntled student, tragic, come together as a community blah blah blah. They didn't say shit about glowing swords or super powers and I wondered how long it would take before the security footage leaked. Speaking of security footage, I had been awfully close to ground zero. Was I recognizable? How long before someone in power wanted to interview me for my statement and how much could I believably play dumb?

Those thoughts got me through dinner with my sister and the dishes afterward. I'd halfway worked myself up into expecting a no-nonsense mustache sporting detective and his hotter action girl sidekick to knock on the door, flash a badge, then good cop bad cop me into a confession TV show style. What I actually got was much, much, worse.

The front door popped open like someone had put a whole lot of English on it and my Mom stormed in like the Wrath of God.

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"Christopher Isaiah Jacobson, get in here right now. "

All three names was a bad sign and i mentally braced for impact while trying to sound relaxed, "I'm right here, Mom. "

"I'm right here" she repeated in as much of a bass voice as she could before pointing at me, "You've got one chance, young man, and it better match up with what I already know. Spill it."

She sounded pissed, but this wasn't my first rodeo. I pasted a confused look on my face. "Spill what, Momma? Why are you so mad?"

Without breaking eye contact with me, that pointing finger speared to the left and zeroed in on Monica who was eyeballing us from hallway. "Take yourself to the bedroom, Mon." Without looking away from me, she took off her coat, hung it on the back of her chair and moved around the table to sit directly across from me. Heavy eye contact the whole time and it took a conscious effort on my part to just sit there and wait. Finally, without breaking the death stare she leaned in and in a soft voice said, "Trials."

I couldn't help it, I flinched. She smirked, letting me know she'd seen it and my shoulders slumped. How much did she know and how the hell did she find it out? My mind raced as I tried to think of the best way to spin this, and how much I should admit.

My mom must have read it on my face, because she shook her head at me and in a much gentler voice cut in. "Baby, I can't help you if you don't talk to me. Tell me what's going on, son."

So with a deep breath, I did.