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do. I slipped out, put a little Eurythmics on. Eurythmics is this band from the eighties. Their song “Here Comes the Rain Again” was Momma Jo’s favorite song, and she used to play it all the time . I heard it probably a million times as a kid. Fortunately it’s a great song. They’re probably my fourth-favorite band.
    Naoki said it’s interesting that I like Eurythmics because the name actually means “a harmonious body of words.” “Like a pep rally where everyone is singing the same song.”
    â€œAnd it’s a nice song,” Thomas added.
    â€… Harmony—music and magic?
    â€… Throat singing?
    There’s no way Jefferson High would ever play Eurythmics, anywhere. First of all, Eurythmics is music for poets, not jocks. Plus it’s music for singing alone when you feel alone in the world. And that’s not pep rally music.
    *   *   *
    It was Sole Family Pizza Night. By the time I got home, Tesla had already voted on a movie, Home Alone , which is this relatively ancient movie she found on Netflix about this kid who gets left behind when his parents go away, because his parents are stupid and don’t know how to count their kids.
    As I carefully stacked what I perceived to be the max number of pizza slices onto my plate (accessing my math skills to see if my triangle studies would prove at all helpful—they didn’t), I caught Mama Kate looking at me.
    â€œHow’s it going?” she said, in this superlight “I’m just asking about the weather” way.
    â€œStarving,” I said, pointing at my pizza.
    Mama Kate disappeared into the fridge and emerged with a big bottle of soda, which is an only-movie-night treat because sugar in pop form makes Tesla a bit crazy. “How’s school?”
    â€œFine,” I said. It is important, when eating pizza, to make sure you have at least two napkins per slice. Especially in my family. Half the clothes any of us owns are stained with something.
    Mama Kate nudged a glass in my direction. “Nothing of note?”
    There is nothing Mama Kate wants more than for me to “talk about things,” whatever that means. Talk about what and why is what I want to know. About how Matt Truit is a dickhead? Which would give her a new thing that she can worry about? On top of all the other things she worries about, like food dye and grades and everything? I don’t think so.
    I poured myself a glass of sugary carbonated goodness and smiled a huge “school photo” fake smile. “Everything’s totally cool,” I said.
    â€œ Hey! ” Momma Jo shouted from the couch. “Are we watchin’ a movie or what?”
    On movie nights, my moms sit on the couch with Tesla snuggled in the middle, and I perch on the top of the couch, creating kind of a pyramid shape. We have many family photos with this similar formation. It is not necessarily the best setup for a movie-night seating arrangement. Many pieces of pizza have been spilled because the top of the couch, as Momma Jo has often said, is not a table.
    I lay a few extra napkins on my knees and on the couch for good measure.
    â€œThat’s a good idea,” Momma Jo said, holding out her hand. “Gimme some of those.”
    â€œI might have to go and do homework and not watch the whole movie,” I warned as Tesla pointed the remote at the TV.
    â€œGeez. Glad you could join us!” Momma Jo frowned. “How’s the pizza? To your liking? Should we order you an extra pie next time?”
    â€œCan I just eat please and not get hassled?” I said, in what was probably more of a low grumble.
    â€œ Hey! ” Momma Jo snapped, flicking my knee. “How about you’re wearing my super cool overalls so you should be nice to me or I’ll let Mama take you shopping for real clothes?”
    â€œJo, stop it!” Mama Kate reached up and patted my leg. “I’m glad