"Hopefully that shit works out for her, man," Kavinsky said, and he meant that. He couldn't imagine if he'd gone postal at home. He couldn't imagine if his mom had. The genetic predisposition toward whatever made him and his mom such shitheels while his own sister had turned out such an angel had just fed into the awful truth of his monstrosity.

"I know it's rough here," he said, "but just remember that you're back there too, okay? She's got you."