Don't Fail Me Now(22)

“Okay, okay.” I sit up and blink into the still-dark room. The thin strip of visible sky outside is peach-colored, and my phone alarm hasn’t gone off, so it must be just after sunrise. Aunt Sam’s door is shut, but her purse is hanging on the chair by the door, so she must be home. There is one thing conspicuously missing, though. “Where’s Cass?” I ask.

“Doing her shot, I think,” Denny says, punching all of the buttons on the remote in an attempt to turn on the TV. A black screen appears with the words CONNECTION NOT DETECTED.

I poke around in the cupboards until I find a box of Special K stashed next to an empty carton of cigarettes over the stove. I pour some into a bowl and look for milk, but Denny was right—there’s no liquid in the fridge except for a bottle of white wine and a few hard ciders. When I close the door, I notice that Aunt Sam’s only magnet reads, GET BEHIND ME, SATAN—AND DON’T PUSH! Right.

“You’ll have to eat this dry,” I say, sticking a spoon into the pile of cereal and setting it in front of him on the coffee table. I grab the remote and fix the input, scrolling until I find a Ninja Turtles cartoon and then lowering the volume until it’s barely audible. “We don’t want to wake the beast,” I whisper, ruffling his hair.

“But I already woke you up.” Denny grins, flake shards shooting through his lips onto the carpet.

“Smartass.” I flop back down on the couch and check my phone. It’s six fifty-five. If we hurry we can probably get out the door before Aunt Sam even remembers we’re here. I pull a rumpled sheet around me (not that Denny would ever take his eyes off a screen, unless—and maybe not even if—the house went up in flames) and shimmy out of my gym shorts and into some jeans. The tank top I slept in has no visible stains and still smells like coconut oil conditioner, so I leave it on. Devereaux rule #6: No stains, no smells, no problem.

I know how scarce and precious private bathroom time is these days, but after ten minutes of folding up the makeshift bedding and playing solitaire on my phone waiting for Cass to emerge, I start to get impatient.

“Hey,” I whisper through the door, drumming my fingers on the hollow, white-painted wood. “You almost ready?” I hear shuffling and the blast of sink faucets. A few seconds later, Cass comes out with a mumbled, “All yours.” Her face is dripping wet, but not enough to distract me from her bloodshot eyes and puffy lids. She’s been crying.

I shut myself in and stare at my reflection in the mirror, my self-loathing steadily rising. I should never have let Cass see Leah’s photos. I should never have told her about Buck. My sister acts so tough that I sometimes forget how young she is. She’s thirteen. Thirteen. Her armor’s just starting to grow. And she’s already been through more than a lot of people twice her age. She has to stick herself with needles just to stay alive, not to mention survive the basic soul-suck of adolescence, which apparently includes some posse of mean girls gay-bashing her at school—and she’s not even gay. Or maybe she is. I don’t know. Would she even tell me? Either way, on top of all that, she definitely didn’t need another thing to worry about.

I wash my face and brush my teeth, but as penance for my misjudgment I decide to leave my hair in its natural state, which might best be described as “Solange Knowles after falling on an electrified fence.”

I turn to leave the bathroom and come face-to-face with Aunt Sam, the only person I know who can manage to look intimidating in a Hello Kitty kimono.

“Good morning, sunshine,” she says, putting a hand up on the doorframe. “You got something for me?”

“Um . . .” The wad of bills is safe in my bag in the living room, stuffed into a pair of ankle socks. It’s all there, and handing it over would make her happy and get her off my back—for the time being, anyway. But for some reason, I can’t bring myself to part with my entire life savings just yet. “I got it,” I say, thinking on my feet. “But since I worked late and deposited my paycheck after eight, it won’t post until tomorrow.”

“Don’t lie,” she says, clicking her tongue. “You think I don’t know a liar, you must have forgotten who my sister is.”

Mom lies because she’s an addict, I want to say. Which is better than being a sad, lonely old bitch like you. But instead I try to look shocked. “I’m not lying!” I say. “I swear, you can come with me to an ATM right now. I’ve got it all, $347 and change. We can even go talk to the bank manager and see if they can make an exception.” I crinkle my forehead and swallow hard. If I actually let all the heartache I’ve been bottling up for the past decade show on my face, I’m afraid I might crack for good, so instead I just give her a fake bootleg version. “Please don’t kick us out,” I whisper, pressing my lips together and chattering my teeth to make my chin tremble. “Just give me one more day.”

My aunt purses her lips and steps back, looking me up and down with her hands on her hips. “Fine,” she says finally. “You’re lucky I haven’t had my coffee yet.” She sweeps back into her bedroom and kicks the door closed with one slippered foot.

? ? ?

Today’s ride to school is even more chaotic than usual. It takes me three tries to get Goldie to start, and when she does there’s a rattling sound that doesn’t stop even when I press on the brake. Great. Then when I start to pull out into the street, Denny screams, “STOP!” at the top of his lungs because apparently I have almost run over Max, and I have to resist the urge to shrug and keep going. Then Denny has to get out of his seatbelt to let Max in the car, and then Max somehow manages to kick the back of Cass’s seat even though he has no legs. (“He does have legs, and he’s wearing cowboy boots,” Denny informs us.) Cass, meanwhile, won’t look at or speak to any of us. She’s even more robotic than usual, and I only last five minutes before I resort to shameless bribery to clear my conscience.