Francine sighed, something stopping her from letting herself work up into a hysterical rant, even though she was just this side of it. "I don't think he knows, no. But I do. Getting high, dealing drugs, passing out in boys' rooms... Jesus, I'm a freaking Afterschool Special."

And mildly guilty for that last outburst in the way that only a suburban Methodist kid can manage to feel guilty for using the J-word but not the G-word.