Also a Tweet fave:
Mom & Dad’s crazy-mad words chopped at her brain like axes, so Mazie’d grab her bike lamp & go tremble under Gran’s bed covers. After a while, the magic swan in there with her took off, feathers shushing like a far-off windmill, and Gran breathed.
Sundays, sullen days, students moved around in tight, defensive knots, stink-eyeing everyone. No real supervision or academic & accomplishment rewards. Bedtime Mazie buried herself under her covers to listen for the swan until Gran breathed.