The small apartment that I’m supposed to call home reeks of cigarette smoke and wet dog. Dirty ashtrays litter the end tables and empty pizza boxes fill the space behind the kitchen trashcan.

There’s no dog, and I can’t figure out the source of the smell.

How could Dad fall in love with a person like Jodie after having a life with Mom? Mom was a clean freak and our house smelled of clean linens and evergreen.

I’ve gone from a house filled with hope and life to one a step removed from hell.

I think about this disparity often, a mystery I’m determined to solve, but never do.

I’m prepared to hate both Jodie—my dad’s new wife—and her daughter, Veronica. Within a month, I waver in my plan.

It’s easy to dislike Jodie. Although she doesn’t do anything to me to directly, she treats the girl with a disregard that pisses me off. It’s as if Veronica is an afterthought. I can take care of myself, but Veronica? I’d guess that she’s been self-sufficient all her life.

I sleep on the sofa because the apartment only has two bedrooms. When Dad and I moved in, he said we’d find a bigger place for all of us. Soon. The sleeping arrangement would be temporary.

Soon doesn’t happen.

I never go into the bedrooms. Sometimes, Dad and Jodie sleep all day and night. Or maybe they’re doing other things in there.

I really don’t want to know. I’ve mentally checked out, sitting on my sofa bed and playing video games in marathon sessions. No more football practice or games. Nashville seems like a distant dream.

Veronica hovers in the background, watching me all the time but never saying much. I don’t talk to her, either.

It’s Christmas break, but we don’t have a tree. Not one twinkling light or piece of decoration. Dad and Jodie left days ago and haven’t returned. I’m playing Silent Hill and Veronica rises from an ugly orange recliner and goes to stand in front of the refrigerator.

She’s so damned skinny, her T-shirt swallows her. The light of the fridge reflects off the sharp angles of all her bones. I know she’s thirteen and still growing. But shouldn’t she have hips and boobs? Maybe not. I try to remember if the girls back home did.

Veronica closes the door and turns to me. “What will we do if they don’t come home?”

I glance from the TV to her and back so I won’t get killed in my game. “They’ll come back.”

“What if they don’t?” She walks to a stop in front of the TV.

“Move,” I say, waving at her.

She doesn’t listen. “No. We need groceries. I’m going to get a job or something.”

I roll my eyes. “Who’s going to hire a thirteen-year-old kid?”

“Don’t call me a kid. I can babysit in the building. We need something to eat. I don’t mind. I’ll buy enough for you, too.”

I shake the video game controller and lean my head so I can see around her. “Look. You killed me.”

She gets a hurt expression on her face, her eyebrows knitting together in the middle. “Don’t you care if we starve?”

“No,” I lie.

“Why do you hate me?”

I’m shocked. “I don’t. Why do you think that?”

“You never look at me or talk to me.”

I exhale and my shoulders drop in defeat. “I don’t hate you. It’s…you’re a kid. I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“You never ask me to play with you.” She signals at the television. “I’m not a kid. I’m almost the same age as you.”

“There’s a huge difference between sixteen and thirteen.”

She sits beside me on the sofa, something she hasn’t done since I made it my bed. “I’m sorry about your mom.”

“Hm,” I say. My throat closes up instantly. Why’d she have to say it? I forgot the bulk of my misery until she had to say it aloud.

“You can talk to me,” she says. “Or not.”

I ignore her and begin a new game, pressing the controller buttons harder than necessary. “If you want me to like you, don’t block my game again.”

“OK,” she says, but doesn’t leave her seat beside me.

“And forget about getting a job. You’re not going anywhere. I’ll call my grandpa. He’ll get us some groceries.”

She tucks her feet underneath her body and nods. I try not to notice that she’s crying. Fucking shit. Why is she crying?

“What?” I put the game controller down. “What now?”

Her tears need to stop because I can’t deal with it. My chest contracts and I can’t breathe seeing them drip down her cheeks.

“Nothing,” she whispers. “I don’t hate you either.”

I don’t answer. Instead, I get up and hunt for my other controller.

When I hand it to her, she takes it and places it in her lap. “I’ll watch for now,” she says softly.

“Sounds good.” I continue to play until she falls asleep in her seated position. Her head droops to the side and I push her gently onto my pillow. It’s not so bad having company while I play video games.

Later, I call Grandpa Tom. I don’t really know him, but Dad gave me his number in case of emergency. I decide this is it. Who knows if Dad and Jodie will return. I sure don’t.

Grandpa doesn’t ask tons of questions when I call. I ask if he’ll bring me some groceries, and he says he’ll be right over. Instead, he shows up empty-handed.

“You and Veronica can come home with me. Get your things. Write your dad a note,” he says with a curl to his lip. “Tell him that you and the girl are with me.”

Grandpa Tom has a small three-bedroom house. There’s an anorexic, artificial tree in one corner with silver tinsel strewn over the branches. My dad’s mom died before I was born, but I’d bet he’s had the tree since Grandma died.

Veronica doesn’t speak during the drive to Grandpa’s. It’s as if she’s afraid to mess up a good thing. I give her an encouraging smile so she’ll stop looking so worried. We follow him inside the house.

“Where does Veronica sleep?” I ask Grandpa.

“You take the good bedroom,” he says to her. He points to the hallway. “First door. There’s a bed and a dresser. Check the closet for blankets.”

“Go on,” I say in a gentle tone, when she doesn’t move. I feel like the adult coaxing a child forward.

She rubs her fingers over her mouth, scrubbing hard enough to hurt. I’ve noticed her doing it when she’s anxious. I’m confused. Isn’t she glad to be here? I sure am. This beats the hell out of the smelly apartment.

I put one hand on her shoulder. “Are you afraid your mom will be mad?”

She shakes her head.

“Come on,” I say. It’s evident that she’s not going anywhere without me, as if she’s afraid of Grandpa.

We walk down the narrow hallway together, side-by-side. She hugs her overnight bag to her chest. “I can sleep on the sofa,” she whispers to me.

“He doesn’t want you to sleep there. You have a room.”

She’s like a shadow behind me as I walk into the bedroom. It’s plain, a patchwork quilt on the bed and a white shade over the window. I pick up a photo from the top of a cherry dresser sitting against the far wall.

I recognize my dad as a kid. He’s on one knee beside a shaggy dog.

“That’s Jerry,” Grandpa says from the doorway.

“Yeah.” I slide the photo back in place. “How long can we stay?”

“Son, I’m not taking you back to that place. You’re staying here now.”

Veronica wipes her hand over her mouth, her blue eyes huge in her pale face.

I look away from her to Grandpa. “She stays if I do. Please, sir.”

He’s quiet for several minutes. I’m sweating at the thought he’ll think I’m too much trouble or that she is.

He lifts the John Deere tractor hat from his head. “She can if her mother will let her. I’m not her family.”

“She stays with us,” I repeat. I don’t know why, but I need to know that the whole world hasn’t gone to shit. She’s not really my family either. I barely know her. But she has no one. Jodie is a sad excuse for a mother. At least I have the memory of my mom.

Veronica needs me.