Mrs. Rush smiled and touched my shoulder. “Good,” she said. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“I will. Thank you.”

I couldn’t say it enough. Thank you for letting me stay. Thank you for not asking more questions. It was more than I deserved. More than most people would give their daughter’s delinquent best friend.

I wasn’t actually a delinquent, but based on the lies I’d just told, they thought I was. But still, they were letting me live here. That’s just the kind of people the Rushes were.

I went up to Amy’s room and grabbed my bag. I took it to the guest room and started tossing my wrinkled clothes into drawers and putting the nicer things (i.e., my one nice sweater) on hangers.

I was almost done when Amy’s phone buzzed in my back pocket. I looked at the screen and saw that it was a text from Ryder.

My dad knows I know about the model and now he won’t stop calling. I never answer. He won’t take the hint.

I was supposed to respond with something obnoxious or bizarre. Something to make him question why he’d ever like Amy. That was why I had the phone, after all. But just then, with my mother’s silence ringing in my ears, I couldn’t hold back the words I really wanted to say to him.

Answer him. He might be a dick, but at least he wants to talk to you.

It only took Ryder a second to respond.

That wasn’t the reply I expected. Is everything okay?

Not for the first time, I found it was easier to be honest in text form than in real life.

Not really.

Is it your mom?

Yes.

Do you want to talk about it? I’m here to listen. You’ve listened to me complain plenty about my parents.

Actually, I’d rather talk about anything but that right now.

We can do that, too.

We shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have.

But we did.

* * *

The next day, my hunt for employment finally paid off.

I got an e-mail from the bookstore at the mall, inviting me for an interview.

I sat down with the manager after school on Monday, but only for a few minutes. I got the sense they would hire pretty much anyone.

“It’s retail,” the manager, Sheila, said. “We get pretty busy around the holidays.”

“So this would just be seasonal?” I asked, a little disappointed. Any job would do, but I was going to need one well past the end of the year.

“Yes,” Sheila said. “But there’s always potential for you to be hired on in the new year, too.”

“Potential is good.”

“So you’re in?”

“Definitely.”

While I felt a little guilty about mooching off the Rushes, at least now I’d have money to pay for my gas and lunch without having to lie or borrow from Amy. I could also start saving up for new clothes, since I hadn’t packed many winter outfits when I left my house.

“Also,” Amy said when I told her the good news that night, “you can get me a discount on books.”

“Because you don’t have enough of those,” I said, gesturing to the overflowing bookcase next to her desk. “Have you even read all of those? Or even half?”

“It’s more about the collection,” she said.

I rolled my eyes. “One day, you’re going to be on a reality TV show, buried under your collection and needing a serious mental health intervention.”

“And you’ll be the concerned friend who, instead of finding me the help I need, decides to get me on TV.”

“Hey, girl. I need my close-up, too.”

We both burst into giggles, for once not worried about being too loud or waking her parents. I have to admit, it was nice to be done with the sneaking around. Between that and the new job, a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

Unfortunately, there were still a couple more I couldn’t seem to shake.

Chapter 11

I had this recurring nightmare that started when I was eleven, when things with my mom began going south.

Or more south than they’d already been.

The dream began in my bedroom back home. I was doing something — homework or reading, I was never really sure — when I heard the front door slam. From there, it was always the same. I’d get up and call out to my mom, but there would only be silence. Thick, unnatural silence. Even the birds outside my window seemed muted all of a sudden. So I’d leave my bedroom and find that the house was nearly pitch-black. The sun, which had been shining through my bedroom window, vanished. I’d keep calling for my mom and hunting for a light switch, but they weren’t where they were supposed to be. And neither was the furniture. I’d reach to put my hand on the counter or go to sit on a chair and find nothing there. Eventually, I’d go to my mom’s room, sure she’d be there. Sure she’d be able to fix whatever had happened to our house.

But the door to her room was like the entrance to a black hole. The darkness was thicker. Darker than black. I screamed for Mom, but the hole swallowed it up.

That was when I’d wake up, shaking and desperate for a sound, any sound, just to know I wasn’t alone.

Sometimes I’d go months without having the dream, and sometimes it happened every other night.

It had been a while this time. I guess Amy’s snores had chased any nightmares of silence away. But the day after I got my new job, the nightmare came again.

I woke up with another scream on my lips, and I had to bite it back. The room was so dark that, for a minute, I couldn’t remember where I was. Next to me, Amy snored, loud and long. It was a small comfort, but after a few seconds of deep breaths and calming thoughts, I still couldn’t relax, let alone get back to sleep.

“Amy,” I whispered, nudging her arm and feeling only a little guilty about disrupting her beauty sleep. “Hey, Amy.”

Apparently, I wasn’t interrupting anything tonight because all she did was snort and roll away from me.

Don’t be stupid, I thought. You’re not alone. She’s right there, even if she can’t hear you. Go back to sleep, Sonny.

But the room seemed too dark, and the idea of closing my eyes, of adding another layer of blackness, made my heart thump uncomfortably in my chest.

“Screw it,” I mumbled, throwing the blankets off of me. I climbed over Amy, grabbed her cell phone from the dresser, and tiptoed out of the room.

The minute the light in the rec room flickered on, it was instantly easier to breathe. Like the darkness had actually been pressing down on me, crushing my chest. I walked over to the couch and flopped down on my back, Amy’s phone still in my hand. One of the benefits of borrowing her phone while mine was out of commission: She had a smartphone. Which meant games. I’d already downloaded a few free ones, along with some humorous, inappropriate text tones that Amy hadn’t found quite as funny as I had.

But even silly phone games with their bright colors and funny sounds couldn’t chase away the lingering nightmare. Or the knowledge that, even though the rec room was bright and familiar, I was still alone in here.

I can’t explain what I did next. It was stupid and self-destructive and wrong on many, many levels I didn’t care to think about. But I was lonely, and I needed to talk to someone. Anyone would have done, really. But there was only one person I knew might be awake at one in the morning on a school night. Which just so happened to be the first Tuesday in November. Well, I guess technically it was Wednesday now. Whatever.

So did your dad win the election?

Ryder had texted a few times in the past couple of days, but I’d either not responded or just replied with emojis that made no sense in the context of his comment or question. And when he sent back a question mark, I didn’t reply. How was that for flaky? Honestly, it was probably pretty good progress on the make-him-think-Amy-was-a-weirdo front, but here I was.

Messing it all up again.

Just as I’d expected, he was awake, and it only took him a second to text me back.

He did. Unfortunately.

Not so unfortunate for his constituents, though. I looked him up. He seems to be doing some good things.

Sure. When he’s not doing the model.

Before I could respond, Ryder sent another message.

He still wants me to come visit for Thanksgiving.

Will you?

Of course not.

But don’t you want to visit DC? I know you miss it.

I don’t think I do anymore. I’m pretty sick of DC.

I frowned. I knew things were bad with his dad, but this was a sharp turnaround for the guy who’d compared every little detail of Hamilton to the infinitely superior Washington, DC, since he’d arrived. But, thinking about it, I had seen far fewer snarky Facebook statuses since he’d learned the truth about his dad. Still, DC was his home. It was where he’d grown up. It was where his old friends were, even if they had drifted apart some. I would have expected him to take any opportunity to visit, even if for only a day or two.

He didn’t seem eager to talk about that, though, because he sent another message straightaway.

I know it’s only been a week, but I’ve missed these late-night chats.

Yeah. Me, too. I’ve been keeping my insomnia mostly at bay. But I couldn’t sleep tonight. Nightmare.

What about?

It wouldn’t make any sense if I explained it.

Try me.

I almost didn’t reply. I almost ended the conversation right there. I should have.

I’d never told anyone about my nightmare. Not even Amy. I’d called her in the middle of the night a few times, panicked and desperate to hear someone’s voice, but I’d always glossed over what the dream was about. I’d just say something like, “Something bad happened to my mom” or “I was trapped in a dark house.” I never went into details. I didn’t want to open that door. To expose that dark, broken place inside of me where all the bad things lived.