NONE OF US END UP spending the night at Raegan’s house. Her dad didn’t want us stressing her mom out with the baby on the way even though she kept insisting she was fine.

Raegan walks us outside, clearly not happy about it. “She’s already getting her way and she isn’t even born yet!”

Lin turns to me. “We can continue the sleepover at your house? If you wanted?”

The question catches me off guard. I don’t want to stumble through a vague excuse and have them think the worst about my dad and home life. Even though they’re my best friends, I can’t let them know about the recoverees. What if it somehow got back to Margaret? This secret is too big of a risk to let anyone else know.

I make my voice as cheerful as I can. “My dad got the carpets cleaned today, so I doubt he’d be thrilled about me having a group over when everything is still wet.”

Not my best excuse, but luckily none of them seem concerned by it.

Instead, Whitney unlocks her car. She won’t meet my eyes, probably assuming I’m specifically blowing her off. “It’s fine. I think Jay wanted me to come over, anyway.”

I can’t tell if she wants that to sting, but it does.

Lin, on the other hand, gives me a quick hug. “We’ll plan for another time.”

Raegan smiles. “Yeah, it’d be good to see Mr. Seneca.”

A knot of worry forms in my stomach, so I keep it noncommittal. “Yeah, for sure.”

I drive back home, trying not to feel bad about lying to my friends. It’s for the best. And I really, really don’t want to get sent back when I just got here.

The first thing I notice when I get home and open the front door is music. It’s not Queen, thank god. It sounds like something that you’d hear at a serene water garden.

Confused, I step into the living room—which does not look like a living room anymore. Our beige couch and leather recliner are pushed against the wall, and our coffee table has been moved in front of the stone fireplace. The only thing in the middle of the room is our olive area rug and, dead center, Saylor, who is sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed.

“Uh, hey,” I say, making sure my voice is clear over the music. “What are you doing?”

Saylor’s eyes snap open. “Hey!” He leans over and turns down the music on my old boom box. “I was just meditating.”

I blink. That’s why he reconstructed our living room?

“O-kay,” I say slowly. “Well. I’ll leave you to it.”

Saylor sits up a little straighter. “You’re welcome to join me if you want.” He stands up, pulling his palms together over his head. His cluster of leather bracelets drop down toward his elbows. “You become attuned to the world around you.”

I nod, not sure what to say to that.

He must sense a subject change because he goes, “Peach says you got your Texas license?”

“Yeah.” I can’t help but smile. “Feels good to drive a car that’s mine.”

Saylor lowers his arms. “I bet. Oh, hey! I got a job at the 7-Eleven down the street. I’ll be the night clerk.”

I debate asking him about those graphic design jobs, but he looks so proud of himself. Then it hits me. Maybe this job is the way to complete step 11: getting him out of here.

I choose my next words carefully. “That’s, uh, really great.” Pause. “So… this job. Does that mean you’re moving out?”

It comes out more bluntly than I intend, but if Saylor notices he doesn’t show it. He closes his eyes, as if returning to his previous meditative state, and says, “Perhaps. It’s hard to say. I have nowhere to go at the moment.”

I remember what my dad told me about him the other night, but that sympathy doesn’t quite shield my disappointment. “Great,” I mutter. “I’m gonna go shower.”

Saylor nods. I leave the room and dart upstairs.

I shower quickly, not minding the lukewarm temperature after sweating all day outside. I use a few different kinds of body wash and soap to try and scrub the red paint off my hands, but nothing completely removes it. I give up, turning off the water and wrapping myself in a towel before heading to my room.

After I change into a pair of shorts and an old Cedarville Middle School shirt, I check my phone. There’s a picture text from Lin. I open the image and see Lin’s face twisted into a scowl. She’s holding one of her red hands in the air. I read her text that follows.

LIN: Doesn’t it look like we committed murder??

I laugh, then take a picture of my hand.

ME: i went all Lady Macbeth in the shower. out, damned spot! didn’t work.

LIN: lolol

There’s a knock at my door. I let out a deeply annoyed sigh. I hope it isn’t Peach wanting to cook dinner together or Saylor wanting to talk me into yoga again. I wrap my towel around my hair and open it.

My dad stands in the hall, a smile on his face. His left hand holds up a twenty-dollar bill. “I thought I’d stop by to give you your allowance early if your room is clean.”

I open the door a little wider so he can see inside. He takes it as a cue to come in instead.

“I’m still putting away laundry,” I explain as he stares at the piles of clothes on my desk. “Sorry. School’s been draining with homework and stuff already.”

My dad nods like he understands, then takes a seat on the edge of my bed. I sit on my desk chair. I feel a little shameful about how our conversation ended last night, but it wasn’t like I said any of it to be hurtful. It was the truth.

“You got your license okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. Oh, I have your debit card.” I grab my purse from the ground and pull it out of my wallet. “Thanks,” I add.

“You’re welcome.”

There’s a small pause of awkward silence.

He looks at me, then takes a deep breath. “Listen, I know you’re not ready to forgive me for what happened, but I want to tell you again how sorry I am.”

It was all in his letters. The mournful apologies, the guilt-ridden sentences. It’s not that I don’t believe he’s sorry, because I do. But I’m not sure if I’m ready to forgive him yet, even though I’d written in my personal twelve steps that I should.

“I want you to know—really know—that I know how much I screwed up. If anything had happened to you… if my actions had harmed you in any way—” He swallows, shakes his head. “I would have never forgiven myself.”

I stare down at my bare knees. Grams had been gone two and a half years prior to the intersection incident, and in that time I knew my dad was slipping farther into his alcoholic haze. I was too terrified to do anything but deny it. Even when June would call and check in, I’d pretend like everything was fine.

Once I caught on to how intoxicated he’d become before going to work, I started asking Lin for rides. I made excuses. My dad started an earlier shift, I’d say. It was easily believable. Nobody questioned it.

There was only one time when my friends became concerned. After school, Whitney, Raegan, and Lin came over to work on a biology project. My dad’s car wasn’t in the garage, so I assumed he was still at work. But when we walked into my kitchen, we saw the remains of plates scattered across the scuffed tile. Hundreds of pieces were deliberately smashed in every direction, the aftermath of another episode.

Nobody said anything. Not even me. It was Whitney who suggested we go to her house. I agreed, fighting back a lump in my throat as we walked back out the door.

When I came home that evening, my dad was passed out in his room. The TV was blasting some sitcom on full volume. The laugh track mocked me as I swept up the glass pieces in the kitchen, knowing he wouldn’t remember this in the morning.

Whitney texted me later that evening. I hadn’t wanted to talk about it at her place, and nobody pushed me on the topic. She told me not to be mad, but she’d told Jay. She was worried, she said. But I lied. I said it was fine, that we were fine.

Later that night, my phone chimed with a text. I’d expected it to be from Jay, but I was surprised to see it was from Alex.

ALEX: just finished the season 7 finale of crime boss. WTF.

I stared at the blinking cursor, attempting to form a response in my head. Without thinking about what I was doing, I typed a reply.

ME: can you meet up?

Alex didn’t hesitate.

ALEX: 7-Eleven?

ME: i’ll be there soon.

From what I could tell, Alex hadn’t pursued Lacey after the Sadie Hawkins dance. Our friendship had evolved into what it used to be, but I was still surprised that he was willing to meet me at 7-Eleven on a Saturday night.

Alex was already waiting for me when I arrived. He held out a cherry Slurpee for me, then motioned to the side of the building so we’d be out of sight since it was past our curfew.

I slumped to the ground, sitting with my back against the wall. He did the same.

“I’m sorry.” I mashed my straw against the ice. “My dad… he’s just…”

When I didn’t finish, Alex said, “You don’t have to be sorry for how you feel.”

My fingertips were chilled from the plastic cup. This is why I’d texted him. He was always so kind, so willing to listen without judgment.

So I went on. “He has his bad days, you know, because of…”

My throat tightened. I couldn’t stay Grams’s name without feeling a terrible ache in my chest.

But Alex nodded. He knew my situation.

“Anyway.” I took a long drink, hoping the cold would force back my tears. “It wasn’t exactly a good night.”

“Do you have someone who can help?” Alex asked after a moment.

I thought of Aunt June. “Yeah,” I told him. “My aunt would come if I asked.”

His brown eyes found mine. “You should. I mean, if you wanted. It’s just—” he broke off for a second. “You shouldn’t have to go through it alone, you know?”

I nodded, relief flooding my chest. I don’t know if it was his words or his presence or something else entirely, but I felt a little better.

“You know what Ana used to do when I was sad?” Alex said, a hint of a smile on his face.

Ana was his sister who was a year older than us. “What?” I asked.

Alex adjusted his position so that he was sitting in front of me. Then, ever so gently, he placed his fingertips on both sides of my head. The unexpectedness of his touch made me shiver.

“One, two, three, four, now you’re not sad anymore!”

He removed his hands. I laughed.

“I should have clarified that we were, like, six,” Alex said with a smile.

I found his gaze, feeling my heart lift. “I think it worked.”

We stayed there until midnight discussing Crime Boss and our summer plans and arguing over the best Slurpee flavors. It was Alex who finally suggested we head home, but not before walking me back to my street.

When I got back, I saw Jay had texted me. U ok? was all it said. I knew I should have opened up to him, but I was fine now. So that’s what I told him.

I look back at my father. I don’t want apologies. I want a do-over. I want to go back and change all the awful things that happened in the past for a more favorable future.

My fingers twist around my lotus necklace.

“I’m mad at you for not being better,” I say, surprised at how easily the words erupt from my mouth.

“I’m mad at me for that, too.”

“And I’m not ready to forgive you,” I continue. “It’s going to take a lot more than getting a job and cooking dinners and small talk to get me to trust you again.”

My dad nods. “I know that.”

I pick at a piece of my chipped desk. “So when are they leaving?”

He looks right at me, his eyes softening. “Your Aunt June took you in when you had nowhere else to go. Granted, I know that was one hundred percent my fault. But she still took you in.”

I’m quiet for a long moment. I know Aunt June didn’t have to open up her home to me, but the other option was foster care. There was no way she would have let that happen.

“I know it’s hard for you having them here, but their lives fell apart, too. They know they’re the ones responsible for their actions, but I want to believe in second chances. Not just for me, but for other people, too. And if I can offer them a second chance here, just temporarily, then I hope I’m helping in a small way. Does that make sense?”

I nod. I understand where he’s coming from, but he could have at least run his plan by me before I came home.

We sit in silence for a moment. He hands me my twenty dollars, and I take it from him.

My eyes find my twelve-steps list folded in the corner of my desk. I told myself I’d learn to forgive my dad, but it isn’t as easy as writing it on a scrap of paper.

The front door opens from downstairs. I hear a set of shoes enter through the front hallway followed by a loud… bark?

I glance over at my dad, eyebrows raised in question, but he looks as puzzled as I am. We jump up at the same time and rush down the stairs.

Nonnie’s standing by the front door. She’s holding a large grocery bag in one hand and in the other, a leash. A leash attached to a huge, black Labrador retriever.

“Oh, hello.” Her voice is intentionally sweet. The big dog laps at her hand, then thumps his tail on the ground in excitement. “Do we have room for one more?”