Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

“Mmnff,” I grumble and settle back into my dreamland.
“Phoebe!”
I shoot up in my chair. “Wha—what’s going on?”
“Phoebe, honey,” Mom says, laying a hand on my shoulder, “you
fell asleep over your homework.”
A quick glance at my desk reveals some sleep-crumpled papers
and, thankfully, no drool puddle. Peeling a sheet of notebook paper
off my cheek, I check and see that I had finished my Art History
questionnaire before dozing off.
“Thanks,” I say, smoothing out the paper and slipping it into my
binder. “I guess practice wore me out.”
“Did you want to check e-mail before Damian and I go to bed?”
Ew. I shudder at the thought of Mom and Damian going to bed
together. I mean, I know this isn’t our first night here, but I don’t
need the reminder of where my mother sleeps.
“Sure,” I say before she can elaborate. “I’ll go do that right now.”
She stops me before I hurry out of the room. “Is everything all
right, Phoebola?”
“Sure,” I say again. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You seem a little . . .” She gives me a sad look. “. . . withdrawn.”
“There’s a lot going on,” I explain.
“Are you having trouble with your classes?”
“No,” I assure her. “I mean, sure it’s loads more work than we
ever had at Pacific Park, but I’m making it through.”
“Then it’s your classmates.” She frowns like she’s thinking hard
about something. “I thought you said you’d made new friends?”
“Yeah.” And a few enemies. Not that I’d tell her that—it would be
like tattling to the principal. “Nicole and Troy are great.”
113