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“I have to,” I say.
“Well, I think that might be fun for you. It’ll force you to make some new friends.” She laughs.
My eyebrows fly up. “You think this is funny?”
“No. I just—I think it might be a good opportunity for you since it’s hard for you to break out of your shell. This will help you.”
She can’t be serious right now. I’ve had the worst day. It’s been one thing after another, and all she wants to talk about is how I need to be making friends. As if I have any desire to do that. My insides are burning, and I clench my teeth, grinding them together as I rock my jaw. “I need you to drive me to school tomorrow.”
Her brow furrows as she glances over at me again. “I thought we talked about this? I already have to drive thirty minutes to work, and your school is in the opposite direction.”
“Well, I’m not going to take the bus,” I say, crossing my arms.
Rain beats down on the windshield, and Mom turns on the wipers. “You could always ask Caleb to give you another ride.”
“No,” I say. “That’ll be awkward, and besides, his little brother hates me.”
Mom chuckles again. “No, he doesn’t.”
“I don’t want to ride with them. I want you or Dad to drive me. Dad’s office isn’t even that far.”
The corners of Mom’s mouth dip slightly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”
“Why?”
“Because he has a lot on his plate already.”
I turn toward her as my heart beats faster. “Why can’t he drive me? That’s a terrible excuse.”
“You know why.” Her sweet tone is darkening by the second.
“No. No, I don’t, so why don’t you tell me?” My breathing is jagged and loud—almost as loud as the rain hitting the glass. What is so terrible about Dad that makes driving me to school a bad option?
“He’s . . . he uh—”
“Spit it out!”
“The drinking!” she says as she slams on the brakes. The car skids to a stop in front of our house.
I jerk forward, throwing my arms out against the dash to stop from colliding into it. My chest heaves as I unfasten my seatbelt. “You just can’t stand the fact that Dad and I get along more than you and I do.” I shove the door open, leaping to my feet.
“Becca, wait. That’s not true!”
I run into the house and straight up to my room, locking the door behind me. My hands shake as hot tears pour down my cheeks. I collapse onto my unmade bed and clutch my pillow to my chest. What’s left of my mascara smears against the pale pink pillowcase, and my nose starts to run.
Mom tries to open the door, but it won’t budge. “Becca, let’s talk about this.”
“Leave me alone! You’re the last person I want to be around right now!”
She doesn’t say anything else.
My brain spirals. Every second of today replays—from the bus ride to my lunch with Sadie. When I think about doing it all over again tomorrow, my chest tightens, and I struggle to breathe.
My breathing is ragged while shivers run down my spine. My mouth gaps open, trying to get more air, but I can’t. It’s as if something is pushing against it, crushing my lungs. My vision blurs, and a sharp pain throbs in my head.
I need it to stop, but I’m completely consumed.
This isn’t the way things are supposed to be. He was the better child—the one that never caused trouble. The one that everyone loved.
