Page 49 of Yes No Maybe

She responds with sharp derision. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

She snubs the healthy breakfasts I fix, but after my shower, I find it eaten. And her gone—a sticky note slapped on her door indicating her single-worded plans.

Park.

Home.

Friends.

Or once:Anywhere but here.On that day, she amended her note via text.Park.

She makes minimal effort, though. She’s home by nine every night. The dinner I save for her is always gone from the fridge the next day. When I’m not around, she washes her dishes, does her laundry, and, I suspect, plays with Edgar, for his toys are often spread out, and he leaves some outside her bedroom door like peace offerings.

This every-woman-for-herself living arrangement isn’t unfamiliar. Living with Mom built my quiet independence, so I understand and respect it in Sara. I tell myself—this isn’t so bad. She’s safe, clean, and fed.

But the cozy comfort of the little house is hindered by the tension—I can’t relax. I feel like I should constantly make an effort, as if something magical will turn her to my side, like buying the right color of Mountain Dew or making her favorite dinner by accident.

I know that’s not true. Like with Dean, I can’tmakesomeone care about me or do what I expect. So, I imagine we both feel like her father, each serving our sentence and desperate for escape.

Sara falls in with the rest of my summer fails, making me second-guess everything—very unlike me. Acquiescing to Dean has only made everything worse. Buying the little house has demolished my bank account. My tried-and-true lesson plans face unwanted extinction. My budding friendship with Jack seems rocky, given the terse way he left the other night and his silence since then. I can’t seem to get anything right—a feeling I hate.

Saturday evening, Sara comes into the kitchen while I’m feeding Edgar. I force an upbeat smile. “Hey, how about a movie tonight? Your choice.”

Hovering over the open fridge, Sara scoffs. “We’renotgoing to be friends. Will you give it up already?”

“Sure … in three months. Until then, can’t we try to get along and have some fun?”

She slams the fridge shut. “You want me to have fun? My dad’s in jail. His cousins want to rob the house while we’re gone. We’ll probably end up losing the place because Dad’s not working and won’t be able to pay the bills. I’ll reserve my fun for when this nightmare is over, and I don’t have to look at your ugly, fucked-up face every day.”

I recoil with a sharp exhale, like I’ve been gut-punched. She looks pleased.

Turning toward the living room, she hesitates at the threshold. “Mr. Maddix feels sorry for you. That’s why he asked you to marry him. That’s what everyone at school says, and you freaking humiliated him. Why do you think he’s stayed away all summer? He can’t stand looking at you, either.”

Her door slams a moment later.

Any other day, I might take a deep breath and shake off her horribleness like I’m made of stainless steel. I’ve heard worse. I’ve felt worse.

But today, her verbal assault shakes an already unsteady foundation, and my strong barriers crumble.

I duck out of the sliding glass doors by the kitchen and curve around the house, where she can’t see me. Between the hedges and screened-in porch, I break into a pathetic sob with choking gasps and fat, hot tears, drowning out the soft thuds of music coming from next door. Her viciousness shoves me into a mental replay of my‘ugly, fucked-up face’s’greatest hits—from walking the halls of my high school for the first time after it happened to Renita’s drunken display. I want to scream like I’m doing in my head.

She’s a kid lashing out—I get it. Common sense tells me not to take this personally, but I can’t help it. Itispersonal.

I slide my phone from my pocket and call Mira.

“What happens to Sara if I don’t want this anymore?” I say, unable to hide my weepy voice.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just tell me. What happens?”

Mira sighs heavily. “There’s a group home downtown that has a spot for her. She’ll share a room with a dozen other girls, some there for behavioral and criminal issues, and she’ll go to New Castle.”

“Right, with its welcoming metal detectors and frequent gang issues…” The words come out shaky and irritated. “There’s no other option?”

“No. But she’ll survive… and she’ll regret losing her spot with you. Tell me what’s happened.”

“She’s just… mean, Mira.”

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