GIVE

Act One

It’s been four years since I’ve walked the halls of Leamington Middle School, and I can’t say I’m happy being back. The tiles make my cheap sneakers squeak just like they always have, and the last slam of a locker sounds in the nearby distance. The hall smells of French fries. Not shoe-string, but the thick potatoey ones with a smiley face cut into the center.

I shouldn’t have to be here. No part of this is my responsibility, and I sigh as I trudge to meet the principal of my younger brother’s school.

His office is small with a stain-covered carpet decorating the floors. Principal Andrews is seated behind his desk, a silver plaque with his name on it visible to all. Finley turns around in his chair when I close the door, his freckled cheeks a little too flushed and rusty hair mussed. All of the window shades have been closed tight, making the office feel confined and suffocating.

“Hey, Finley,” I say. Fin gives me a weak smile and I take a seat next to him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Andrews.”

He furrows his plump mouth at me. “Miss Barkley, It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. Last year’s play, wasn’t it? It was one that you wrote if I remember correctly.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Such a shame we’re meeting again under such” -He glances over at Finley who’s clutching the arms of his chair- “difficult matters. Will your mother be arriving soon?”

“She’s not.”

“I’m sorry?”

I look at my brother whose head is now turned to the side, gazing intensely at the silver plaque. I face towards Mr. Andrews once more, hands fisting in my lap.

This will always be embarrassing.

“Our mother isn’t coming. She’s sent me to deal with whatever the problem is.”

He bristles for a moment before readjusting his necktie and says, “Well then, let’s continue on, shall we?”

I catch Fin visibly sliding down in his seat and I tell him to sit up with a thrust of my chin.

“Miss Barkley, I don’t know if you are aware of this, but Finley has been tardy twelve times this semester. That puts us in quite a predicament.”

My heart jolts.

Twelve times. That doesn’t seem possible.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to hold him in after-school detention tomorrow.”

I bring my fingers to my neck and start rubbing at my throat. “I’m sorry, I know he hasn’t always been on time, but that was never Finley’s fault. I’m in charge of getting him here in the mornings. I take full responsibility.”

“I understand how you must be feeling, but we have to treat all of our students fairly.”

“But there was no way he could have helped it, Mr. Andrews. He’s eleven. How can he have any control over this?” I feel desperation envelop my gut. There’s no way I’ll allow Finley to get blamed for my own mistakes.

The principal looks at my brother who’s hunching in his chair again, then back to me. He sighs, “I guess we can excuse it this one time, Miss Barkley. Just, please, don’t let it happen again.”

I try to smile but I feel my lips wobble and collapse into a clumsy pile. “Thank you, Mr. Andrews. You don’t understand how much I appreciate it.”

He nods, and I take that as our cue to leave.

“Finley, let’s go home.” I rub my forehead as he collects his backpack from the ground.

I check the time on my phone: 4:00. I’m going to be late to work again if we don’t hurry.

“Is there a time when Helen Barkley is free?” Mr. Andrews asks just as I’ve opened the door.

I turn back around to face him. “I’m not sure. Why?”

“I’d like to discuss a few matters with her personally.”

“There’s no reason to. I can take care of it.”

Finley mumbles that he’s going to meet me at the car and slides past me.

The principal's sunken eyes soften into something like pity. “You’re not Finley’s mother, Blake.”

I flinch, opening my mouth once before closing it again and charging out of the office. His words sting more than I like to admit, but before I can erase them from my mind, they sink in and stay there, huddled in the dark as lonely ghosts.

Taking the role of a “false” parent comes with more downfalls than the application form specified, but with our own mother sleeping all day and working all night, there’s nothing much I can do about it. Finley needs me, and I’m not going to back away from him just because some old man believes I’m not capable.

Opening the glass, double doors, the late spring breeze blows my hair back away from my face. The butterscotch strands get tangled in my mouth, and I shield my eyes against the blazing sun. Despite spending my entire life in the Sunshine State, I still can’t bear the heat. Our dad used to call me his little Alaskan girl. He’d say the only place a girl like me belonged was where the air got so cold, it’d bite at your toes like the wind had teeth.

Sliding into the front seat of my car, Finley leans his head against the window, arms wrapped tightly around his backpack. Sweat leaks from my skin as the air conditioning tentatively pumps through the vents, and I pull out of the now-empty parking lot.

We don’t speak for several minutes. We just let the gentle music do most of the talking for us, and I tap my ring-covered fingers off-beat against the steering wheel while Fin wipes his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

“I’m sorry I got you in trouble,” I say.

We pass a man walking his dog on the sidewalk, a baby sleeping deeply while strapped against his back. I turn my attention to Finley.

“It’s okay, you couldn’t help it,” he says.

I grit my teeth, jutting my bottom jaw forward.

But I could have helped it. I could have gotten him to school on time if only I’d woken up just a little earlier. If only I hadn’t stayed up so late trying to finish my homework. If only I wasn’t always rushing around, trying to make sure everyone is happy.

I wouldn’t have to play parent if dad hadn’t left. He should be the one packing lunches filled with jelly sandwiches and bags of cucumber slices while I sit and watch him from the kitchen table. Mom would still be asleep upstairs because it has always been impossible to wake her up before noon, but we’d be okay. Finley would never have to worry about after-school detentions, and I would never have to worry about anything.

But that life was stolen away from us. One bound suitcase and a slam of a door and here we stand: a pair of fools waiting for our happy ending.

I shake my head and turn into the driveway.

Our house is more dilapidated than modest. Its original light blue siding has turned green, and the shingles are flaking from the roof like the crust of a burned biscuit. I stare at the flower patch, wilted brown. Our mother was so excited when she bought the daisies and tulips last summer. I’m not sure she’s actually ever watered them.

Now out of the car, Finley starts ripping handfuls of unmown grass and shoves the pieces into his pant pockets. He does this until they’re lumpy and full.

“What are you doing?” I ask, unlocking the front door.

“It’s for Cooper.”

“The Lizard?”

“Yeah, we ran out of lettuce a while ago, so this is what she’s been eating.”

I frown.

Once we’re inside, Finley runs up the stairs, a sketchbook in hand, leaving me in the entryway. My skirt sticks to the back of my legs, and I peel it away as I approach the thermostat. Our mother has it set on seventy-eight degrees, and I feel my back slump at the number. I hesitate for a moment before turning it down by one degree.

Our mother is in the kitchen when I wander in. She’s wearing her nursing scrubs, so she must be about to leave for her evening shift. Her forehead scrunches, and she mumbles to herself as she reads the mail.

I open the refrigerator and grab a water.

“I got the electric bill,” is her only greeting.

“Yeah?”

“And the water and car insurance went up again. When do you get paid?”

“On Friday.” I open the bottle, bring it to my lips, and take several deep gulps. It feels as though every time she talks to me, it’s about money or the lack of it.

“Has your father contacted you at all?”

I blink. “No, why would he?”

“Child support hasn’t come in yet; I was wondering if you could talk to him.”

I stare at my mother for a long moment. Stare at her pinched face and crazed red hair that reaches out like curled fingers in every direction. Finely has that hair, and I’d hate it if it didn’t suit him so much. I see the wrinkles coming too soon on her cheeks, and the makeup used to hide them.

She doesn’t even look at me, and I can’t help but yearn for the day when I finally get to leave home for college. I’ve been repeating to myself that I don’t have much longer. I can stick it out because it’s only a few more weeks before I graduate. Everything will be fine.

Except, Finley will be left here without me. He’ll be alone. It’s when I’m gone that he will be thrust into my position and forced to take care of not just himself, but our mother too.

I steal a few breaths, squeezing my left thumb tightly into a fist, before setting the water bottle down on the counter. I fish my keys from my pocket and walk past my mother who’s still not looking up from the mail.

“Finley needs lettuce for his lizard. I’m going to work.”

***

I don’t pick Finley up from school the next day. There is an emergency at work, forcing me to leave class early. I end up calling our neighbor, Rosa, and she drops Finley off at home instead.

Mother is leaving for her shift when I pull into the driveway. As I walk past the open window of her car, she lights a cigarette and says goodbye with a puff of smoke. My eyes water and I cough when the smell of the tobacco hits the back of my throat.

I head straight to the kitchen to begin making dinner. Digging around in the freezer, I snort when I find something somewhat suitable to eat, and slide out a cookie sheet from the small drawer under the oven.

Turning around to put the now half-full bag of frozen fish sticks back into the fridge, my elbow slams into the edge of the pan, sending it all crashing into the sink. I blow out a single hot breath, letting my head fall back in defeat.

The day has already been throwing me nothing but curveballs, and this little clumsy act almost has me jumping over the edge.

“Blake?”

I turn to Finley who, by some form of magic, crept up until he was directly behind me. He has his lizard, Cooper, resting on his shoulder, and it licks its nose up at me.

“Hey,” I say, flicking a blonde strand out of my eye, “What’s up?”

He crosses his arms and puts on a face of towering stubbornness. “Don’t play dumb. You owe me.”

“I owe you? What are you talking about?”

“You weren’t there to get me from school. I had to ride with Rosa.”

A hint of a smile tilts the corners of his lips, completely blowing his cover of being upset.

I put a hand on my hip. “So?”

“So, I declare we get pizza and not eat some crappy, frozen fish.”

“You declare? Anything else, your majesty?”

Finley ponders this for a moment, eyes lighting up. “You have to watch Die Hard with me.”

I have to hold back a cringe at the thought of the two and a half hours of cliche, trigger-happy men trying to kill each other. I almost say no to him. Part of me wants to make a show of digging out all the now soggy fish sticks from the sink and putting them on the cookie sheet. But the expression on his face says he knows I’ll deny him. A child doesn’t get much in our household. I know it. Finley knows it. And yet, the idea of being a kid and expecting disappointment over something so small is what has me saying, “Okay, let’s do it.”

I know I have a twenty under my pillow that I can waste on this stupid wish, and the smile that brightens this kid’s face makes it worth it.

“Really?” Finley says. “Wow, okay, can we get peppers on it?”

“Whatever you want.” I ruffle his hair earning a grimace in return and slide my phone out of my pocket to make the call.

An hour later, Finley and I are collapsed in a heap on the living room floor, surrounded by pillows and blankets even though we’re practically bathing in our own sweat. The movie has been playing for a while now, but we don’t pay it any attention as we talk over the noise.

“Wait. So, what happened?” I ask.

Finley can’t stop laughing. Every time he goes to retell this story, he breaks into a fit of giggles. “A friend of mine, Aaron. You remember Aaron, right?”

“Right.”

“So, like, he really wanted this girl to go to the Spring Fling with him a couple of months back. It’s disgusting, I know. I can’t imagine wanting to date anybody.”

“Get on with the story, Fin.” I can’t help but smile at the tears streaming down his cheeks with all his laughter.

“Anyway, so at lunch, he saw she was about to walk past our table. And as she did, he pretended to faint while shouting, ‘Will you go to the dance with me?’ and she just said, ‘No,’ in the most monotone voice. Then she walked away. She didn’t try to catch him or anything. He hit the floor, and she just kept going.”

I don’t think either of us are breathing at this point. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Why would he do that?”

Finley shoves a pillow into his face and screams, “I don’t know. He’s an idiot, I guess.”

We both work to calm down. Gulping in deep breaths with red faces and running noses, Finley and I just stare up at the ceiling. There’s a crack running right down the middle, corner to corner. How long has that been there exactly? A week or maybe even a month? It feels like every day, I’m finding a new spot where our house is falling apart.

“This is fun, Blake.”

“What is?”

“Just… this. Hanging out, just you and me. It’s nice.” He looks away as if he’s embarrassed.

“I like it too.”

“I’m so happy we get to do this forever.”

“What do you mean?”

I look over at him, but his eyes are having trouble staying open. “We should do this every week. I would like to hang out with you every day, but that would be too exhausting.”

Some form of panic rises in my throat. The mere idea that he might not fully grasp the reality of me moving has me saying a little too forcefully, “Fin, you know I’m going to be leaving for college, right?”

“Yeah” -I start to relax until he finishes- “But that’s not for a while. We have so much time before then.”

The little hope I had, crumbles. The joy I felt just a minute ago, now a memory suspended in the back of my mind.

I really don’t have much time left here. I graduate in a month. I’ve only been sitting around, waiting for my acceptance letters to come in.

I imagine the different ways to break the news to him. It’s just another thing to pile on. Another weight to the already thousand-pound burden pressing me down. This responsibility… It’s times like these when this role that I play is too much for me to handle. Because it’s knowing that when Finley cries and his heart breaks over the fact that his big sister is leaving him here, there’s no one to blame but my own stupid self.

I close my eyes and open my mouth to say all these things he needs to know, but before I can, my alarm goes off. It shakes us both to life, and we start running around cleaning up the mess we’ve created.

“I don’t want mom to come home. This sucks. She’s ruining our pizza party.”

I don’t say anything. I finish throwing the last of the pillows on the couch and folding the blankets.

“Go brush your teeth and put your pajamas on. I want to see you in bed in the next five minutes.”

Finley salutes me. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t call me ma’am. It makes me feel old.”

“Yes… you majestic wizard.”

I smile. “Perfect. Now go to bed.”

He does as he’s told, and I take the pizza box out back to the fire pit. I light a match, hold it until the flame almost reaches my fingertips, before finally dropping it in. I stay and watch the cardboard burn. Popping echoes with the croaking frogs and the air starts to smell of burning grease. I stand there until the heat becomes unbearable against my chest. Stand until I finally hear my mother slam the front door and call out for me to start making dinner.

And as I walk back inside the house to tuck Finley in, I grin at what the reaction of our mother would be if I hadn’t burned that box. Behind my eyes, I see her nose scrunch and mouth agape in anger, because how irresponsible of me to waste the twenty bucks on a worthless pizza.

***

Act Two

I can’t get the wording right. Every change in punctuation or twist of phrasing doesn’t match the flow of the scene, and I can’t keep myself from tearing the sheet of paper from my notebook entirely and crumpling it into a ball. Finishing this play was like trying to use cobwebs to catch bricks instead of insects.

I lean my head into an open palm.

“You seem like you could use a cup of lemonade,” Rosa says, placing the half-filled glass in front of me from where I sit at her kitchen table. Instrumental music swims quietly from a speaker in the sunroom, and she hums with the tune. Finley sketches intensely across from me, and Rosa perches herself next to him.

Rosa’s been our neighbor for as long as I can remember, and her door has always been unlocked when we needed her the most. She used to teach African culture and literature at the local university before she retired, and now she spends most of her days tending to the hummingbirds and making melkert tarts. That is when she’s not forcing me to write my plays.

She watches me as I lift the cup and take a tentative sip of the drink. An acid bitterness floods my senses, and I fail to contain a cough.

“Wow, thank you. The lemonade is really good this time.” Another cough.

Finley laughs. “You should have known not to drink it. You almost died last time.”

Rosa smacks his chest. “Ah, don’t be so rude. You children will be the end of me.”

I smile and turn back to the new, blank paper resting before me. I’ve been trying to write this story for weeks now but haven’t figured out the correct tempo that goes with the words I’m trying to form. It doesn’t help that the deadline for the final act is in two weeks.

I lazily flip through the pages, skimming all the slashed-out lines of dialogue and the frustrated doodles in the margins.

Rosa leans across the table, examining the disorganized mess before pointing to one line I wrote as a quick-minded thought. “That there. That is good.”

I place my finger next to hers. “That? Really, you’re joking right?” She shakes her head smiling, white teeth bright against the darkness of her skin. “No, that sentence is good. Why don’t you follow that? See where it takes you?”

“Because, I have an assignment to do, and that trash, jumble of nothingness will get me nowhere. I scribbled that down during the passing period a week ago.”

She looks me in the eye, and I suddenly feel bare. Like she can read my thoughts and the fear that’s buried there. The fear that if I get off track now, everything I’ve built for myself this year will destroy itself from the inside-out.

But Rosa apparently thinks differently. “Some of your most brilliant ideas come from when you aren’t thinking. Empty that small brain of yours and write if you know what’s good for you.”

I think she just called me stupid.

Rosa stands from the table. “Or maybe I’m just old and know nothing about… well, anything.” I roll my eyes, and I see her place a hand on Finley’s shoulder while using the other to point at whatever he’s drawing. “That there. That is good.”

***

“It’s okay, Blake. You don’t have to take me with you.”

Finley and our mother crowd my bedroom. Finley, doodling lazily on his hand, while she holds him in place.

I glare at her grip on his arm and imagine peeling those fingers back one by one until he’s finally free.

“No, he’s going with you,” She says. “You both need to get out of the house for the evening. The book club is being hosted here this week.”

Mother’s book club is really slang for, “I’m throwing a drunken party so I can feel like a teenager again, and I can’t have my two children here to ruin anything.”

The entire night will just be an excuse for middle-aged adults to drink and smoke in peace, while they all go through their midlife crisis together.

I don’t say anything. I just watch my brother’s face. Wait for his response.

The pen keeps moving across his skin. He meets my gaze for a second, shrugs.

“Fine. Finley, let’s go.”

I wait until our mother releases his shoulder and leaves, but before she’s completely out the door, she snatches up the wrinkled envelope I had tossed on my bed an hour before. She clicks her tongue with a smile.

“What’s this doing up here? You’re supposed to leave your paycheck on the table for me.” She licks her lips. “Don’t forget next time.”

Finley and I watch as she tucks the envelope in the front pocket of her flannel and leaves my room.

We walk to my car. The sun hangs low in the sky, the evening air cool for the first time in weeks.

We both take up the two front seats.

The pen from before is tucked behind Finley’s ear, and he lifts a hand to press it deeper into the crease. “So, where are we going?”

“Well, I was going to go bowling with some people, but I thought it might be nice to visit the old elementary playground.”

“Why there?”

“I don’t know. We both haven’t been in a while. It might be fun.”

“Won’t your friends be mad that you’re ditching them to hang out with me?”

I lean two arms atop the steering wheel, look over at him, our twin pairs of brown eyes connecting. “If they’re my real friends, then they would understand and not be mad at all, wouldn’t they?”

“I guess.”

“So, are we going or not?” I ask.

He nods, smiling wide.

I back out of the driveway. Noticing one of my headlights is out, I sigh, instinctively calculating the cost of getting a new bulb.

I catch Finley eyeing the top of the car, so I reach up and open the sunroof. He looks so goofy grinning over something so trivial. He lifts both hands, holding them out to catch the wind as I drive by bundles of houses and several boat docks. He whoops and asks me to turn up the music, and I do. Green Day bursts through the speakers and gets lost in between invisible fragments of air.

These are the moments I would give anything for. These amazing seconds filled with Finley’s unbreakable laughter. The rare smile of his that isn’t forced. It’s a simple thing, but it never fails to relieve me of my burden. If only for a moment.

The park is empty when we arrive, and the two of us gravitate towards the metal slide. We go down it a dozen times, mulch working its way into our shoes, legs burning from the friction. But before long, we find ourselves on the swings. The rusted chains creak. We kick at the ground to see who can send the small pieces of wood flying the furthest distance away.

The stars are now out, and the moon winks behind a cloud to say hello.

“Dad called me yesterday.”

I whip my head around and stare at him, mouth hanging open. “Well, what did he say?” Finley shrugs. “Same as always, I guess. He asked about school, grades, and favorite classes.”

Finley says all this so casually, as though he doesn’t think it matters. Like it doesn’t hurt to hear that our dad talks to him and not me, that he knows Fin but doesn’t know me and who I am. I know Finley doesn’t mean it, but it stings like a needle prick in the lungs.

“Did he ask about me?” I ask, on the verge of frantic.

“Nope.”

My heart sinks. “Oh.”

It was expected. I never expect to hear that he wonders about me, never truly believe that he’d be interested in the life of his daughter.

Our conversation dies for a moment.

There’s something strange about darkness. There’s a false sense of security that comes with it. It feels so much safer to share secrets as if they’ll stay buried in the night itself.

“Hey, Blake,” Finley says.

“Hm?”

“I wish mom and dad never split up.”

Me too, kid, is what I would say to him if it felt right. What I would say if I lied to him. Because the thing is, our lives would be so much more complicated if our parents never got divorced. It would be ugly, and everyone would be miserable. My parents were like a puzzle missing the middle piece, they didn’t quite fit together.

The arguing would fill the house and rip me open. My mother’s voice climbed up the walls like black shadows, and my dad’s silence did nothing but feed them. As a child, I would always imagine myself marching down the stairs with the courage I needed, and into the living room where our mother stood clutching onto herself. Dad would be next to her shaking form, a red print blossoming on his cheek. I wanted so badly to tell them to stop. To just love each other because that venomous hatred was killing me.

But I never did.

I was nothing but a coward, always staying huddled under my blankets, a pillow pressed to my ears, hoping those screams never reached me.

“I mean, we never get to see him anymore,” Finley says, pulling my attention back to him. “Mom has changed so much, and sometimes I really miss him, Blake. Maybe I shouldn’t, but sometimes I just wish he had never left.” Finley sniffs. Once. Twice. He shields his face with his shirt.

I stop swinging and look up at the sky. “I know, Fin. I miss him, too.”

“You do?” he asks, still hidden.

I nod. “Of course. He’s our dad. I think when it comes to family, no matter what they do, you’ll just always want them beside you. We can’t help it.”

“I hate this. Crying sucks.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.”

He finally frees his now blotchy face and looks at me. “Can we get ice cream on the way home?”

I laugh, “Yeah, sure we can.”

Finley hops off the swing. “Okay, can we go now? I’m tired of this place, and I want some Cookies n’ Cream.”

“Sure thing, Fin. Whatever you want.”

***

Act Three

The paper shakes in my fingers as I read the words printed on the page:

“Miss Blake Barkley,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been admitted to the Fine Arts program at Newland University…

I reread the acceptance letter once. Twice. Five times. A deep feeling of pride fills the air and I gulp it down. I got in. The shock is overwhelming, and I have the sudden urge to dance. I can see it, the moment when I’m not just writing school plays, but works of literature fit for Broadway. I’ll be the modern-day Shakespeare. I’ll go on tour where I can meet all my fans and travel the world for inspiration.

It’s going to be okay now. This letter that I hold is the end of this life and the beginning of a fairytale where I’m happy and successful all because of what I have accomplished.

But Finley will be here. Alone.

But not forever. Never forever. This is something that I have to do. This is for my future. Once my life is stable, I’ll take Finley away from here. We’ll build a life in the city--New York, perhaps. I just need time. I just need a little while to sort stuff out. To create something huge.

And I tell myself that’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with wanting.

A bout of girlish giggles glides out my lips, and I run down the hallway, paper still in hand, just to stop outside my mother’s bedroom. I don’t keep myself from knocking frantically until she opens her yellowing door and stares down at me with frowning eyes.

“What do you need, Blake?”

A cigarette is pinched in her fingers. She promised she’d stop smoking in the house, and I want to comment on it, but I shove the letter in her face instead. “Look what just came in. Read it. Hurry.”

I don’t know why I still want her approval, but the need for it is a prickling spot on my upper back that I search for every day to itch. I never can reach it.

And as she blows out a breath, I wait for the smile. I wait for her to look at me and say, “That’s amazing, honey. I’m so proud of you.”

That’s not the answer I receive.

I shuffle my feet as her eyes skim the words, mouth deepening with every line. She hands the paper back to me and crosses her arms. “Well, isn’t that great.”

There’s an underlying tone of irritation in her voice, but I ignore it as I say, “I know! I can’t believe I actually got into Newland. I’ve been wanting this for years-”

“And this will be a good experience, too.” She jumps in. “Now when you go to UF, you can tell all your new friends that you got accepted to a big school.”

I falter. “What do you mean when I go to UF?”

“You’re going to the University of Florida, remember? We planned this out months ago.”

Panic. It floods my lungs and makes it hard to speak. “No, we haven’t. You brought it up once, but we agreed that I would go there only if I didn’t get into any of my top schools. But I did, so that’s not an option now.”

She takes a step closer to me and lifts a wrinkling hand to caress my hair. “Oh honey, I think it’s great that you got into Newland. Trust me. But I need you here with me. Who else is going to take care of Finley?”

I back away, letting her arm drop back to her side. “You’re his mother. It’s your job to take care of him, not mine.”

“I’m a good mom. I care for you kids.”

I bite my tongue, but that doesn’t contain my scoff.

Her face twists, eyes widening. “How dare you, you ungrateful child.”

I feel heat flair in my gut, burning hot and angry up and into my head, behind my eyes. I squeeze my left hand into a fist.

I won’t let her win. Not now. Not when the stakes are this high and her winning means that my entire dream is broken. I’m not letting myself back down.

“Hey, when’s dinner?”

Finley’s small voice has me pivoting around. He stands at the top of the stairs, a bag of chips in his hand and cheese powder covering his nose.

I have to get him out of here. Away from this argument. He’s not ready to know. He can’t hear from anyone other than me that I’m leaving so soon and to a place so far away.

“Not now, Finley. Please, can you go to your room?”

He must have heard the desperation in my voice, knew it was important that he wasn’t here, because he doesn’t even glance in our mother’s direction, before rushing past us in the hallway and slamming his door.

I wheel around on her. Jutting my bottom jaw forward and grinding my teeth at the calm expression on her face.

“I’m going to Newland University, mother. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

Tears pool in her eyes and slide down to her chin. She wraps her arms around herself. “It’s not fair, Blake. First, your father left me here. Left me to deal with all of this, and now you’re quitting on me too?” She chokes and it’s like a punch in the gut. “It feels like I’m rotting away, and you’re just going to leave me here? Everyone keeps leaving.”

It’s not like that. I’m not abandoning anyone.

I swallow. “No-”

“What about Finley, Blake? He needs you. I need you.”

She reaches for me again, and I back away from her. “No, mom. I have to. This is for me. Me.”

One of her hands turns into a fist, the knuckles going white, while the other brings the forever burning cigarette to her lips. She sucks on it as a baby does a binky before saying, “You’re so much like your father. He never could put aside his selfishness to care for anything.”

I want to call her a liar. A hypocrite. Call her so, so many terrible things to make her heart bleed more than it already does. But I’m seeing our father with his long, overgrown beard and thick skin. His deep, throaty laugh that boomed throughout the house. I see him holding a single suitcase, still feel the lingering tap he gave me on the head before he left us without saying goodbye.

I’m not like him. I will never be like him.

“I’m so disappointed,” Mother says.

I gag.

I can feel the argument coming to an end. She’s closing the discussion off, and I’m not done yet. I haven’t accomplished anything.

I haven’t won.

“No, mother listen-”

“Go, Blake.”

I pause, blinking. “What?”

“If you don’t want to be here, then go.” The lie comes from her lips like a crack of a whip. “If you can’t stand being around me that much, just leave now.”

She’s not serious. Never is when she gives in to a false agreement.

A sob shatters my breathing, and she closes her door. A click of the lock and I break. Everything that had been building up like a tower of dominoes finally comes crashing down in one sweep of a hand.

All I wanted was to be happy. I just wanted to go on to something better and good, but I’m trapped in an abyss. This deep hole that cradles me won’t let me go. It’s never going to let me leave.

She won’t ever let me leave.

The air that fills my lungs here is made of acid, and I choke to breathe.

I don’t know what to do with myself, with my arms or my legs, I just have the sudden realization that I can’t be here. I can’t be confined in these walls that are pressing down on me, tightening this cage I’m in.

I feel my feet move. They carry me down the stairs and through the living room. I feel nothing except the strangely cool draft floating through the house. Smell nothing except the souring milk Finley must have left out.

In the distance, I hear Fin say, “Did Blake leave?”

My heart throbs, and I want to tell him I’m okay and I’ll be back, but I can’t get my lips to work. So, I don’t stop. I walk out the front door, let it close behind me with a bang, and go to the only place that I can think about escaping to.

***

Rosa is watering her flowers when I arrive. One look at my snot-streaked face, and she’s dragging me inside, setting me down on her soft couch and wiping the tears from my cheeks.

“What’s wrong, Blake? What’s happened?” Her voice is soothing, reaching out with gentle fingers to stroke my ears.

I cough. “It hurts, Rosa. It won’t stop.” I’m clutching at my chest, my neck, anything to stop this pulsing ache.

I catch her eyes looking me up and down, searching for any wounds. But the one that exists isn’t on my skin. It isn’t dripping blood onto her carpet. It’s in my head, builds beneath my ribs, under the tips of my fingers, ruining everything I touch.

“What hurts, Blake?”

I lean into her arms, deflating into something small and timid.

“I can’t do it anymore. It’s too much. I can’t keep waking up every day just to replay the same worn-out mixtape.”

“What-”

“She won’t let me go to Newland. I got in, and she won’t let me go. She’s keeping me trapped here with her.” I grasp at my throat. “It’s too much, Rosa. It’s suffocating me, and I can’t breathe.”

She rubs circles on my back while humming in my ear, “It’s okay. You’re fine. I’m here.”

I pull away from her, and I suddenly feel cold. Too cold. “I’ve spent the last few years being a fill-in parent for a kid that needs so much more than what I can give him. I’ve worked day after day just to make sure that everyone has the things they want. The things they need. But what about me, Rosa. I want things. I want so, so much from this world, but it always gets ripped away from me. I know what it’s like to survive. When is it my time to live?”

Rosa watches me. Her eyes reflect a girl who looks too green-faced with anguish to be me.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore. Help me, Rosa, please.”

I slouch forward, swiping furiously at a tear dangling on the tip of my nose.

Dad used to say we were too old to cry. That we shouldn’t waste the water our bodies need on something so pointless. I’ve always wanted to disagree, but the built-in habit seems to filter in and out the back of my mind.

Rosa doesn’t say anything for a moment as if she’s trying to figure out what to do with me, and my ears ring in the quietness that surrounds the two of us.

I start to feel guilty. I suddenly wish I could take back my words, steal them away, and erase them from her memory.

That is, until she says, “You have gone through more than someone your age should ever have to.” She moves her fingers to my chin, turns my head until our gaze meets. “You are the strongest girl I know, and you will get through this.”

But I‘m not feeling so sure. I don’t feel powerful. I feel weak and in need of a year-long nap.

I shake my head. “You’re wrong. I’ve done nothing but fail. I’m stuck in the past, just like my mother.”

She wraps a wool blanket coated in yellows and blues around me and says, “Blake, you’re not weak for concerning yourself with your father’s leaving. You’re a girl who wishes to be loved and accepted by those who have wronged you. It’s a natural desire.”

“But I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to seek her approval. I want to stop waiting around for his call. I know I’ve been wasting my time, but I don’t know how to stop.”

“Learning to step away from something and move on from the past that follows you is a task that takes time and dedication,” Rosa says, cupping my cheek in her palm. “You must first learn to love yourself.”

“But how? How could I ever love someone like me?” I put a savage bite in my voice as though she needed the extra venom to get the message across.

She blinks and goes silent.

This isn’t helping. She isn’t helping. I’m not sure I ever thought talking it out would.

Finally, she says, “Have you ever heard of the Paddle-Spined Seastar?”

I shake my head, confused on why it would matter.

“They’re a beautiful breed of starfish that only grows to be as big as a fingernail, and in order for their species to expand, they must reproduce. These specific seastars split their bodies in half and each fraction will develop into two different fish. They then leave each other with their own heart and mind to persevere.”

I don’t say anything, and I curl into Rosa’s arms; her fingers fiddle with the ends of my hair.

“Follow that good line of narrative, Blake. The one from before, it might lead you somewhere greater than you realize.”

It takes me a minute to realize what she’s talking about, but then I remember. I remember the “trash, jumble of nothingness” as I put it before. The single sentence that I was in a hurry to write down during passing period.

It had been a quick flash of inspiration. A mere drop of gold that I thought could ripple into something huge. But I never followed it. I never latched onto the motivation to write that story.

Maybe now, I will. It will take much more energy and commitment than I probably have, but maybe I will write something for me. Perhaps it will be worth it.

I look up at Rosa, smiling through the tears that still stream down my face. “Okay, Rosa. I promise I’ll try.”

***

Act Four

The house is quiet when I get home. The glass of forgotten milk no longer on the table. A light shines from upstairs, and I stand at the bottom, looking up at the cracked door of Finley’s room.

I steal a breath, feeling a sense of calm wash through me.

I will no longer be afraid. I won’t be afraid of Her. Of the memories of Him. I won’t tremble. I won’t fall.

I will win.

I take one step. Then another, cutting down the monstrous thing that’s held me for all these years. The thing that’s fed me this fear of never being good enough.

I pass pictures on the walls that still hold his face. Just like me, mother was too scared to forget him. Too scared to erase him from our lives. From our crumbling home.

I won’t make that same mistake.

Now standing before Finley’s door, I knock with unshakable fingers.

I will not be afraid.

“Come in.”

His voice is quiet and welcoming, beckoning me forward. I enter his room to find Finley hunched over a sketchbook, a pencil making wild slashes on the page. Shirts are flung around the room, socks balled on the floor. Everything about the scene is so undeniably Finley, no amount of me or mother could overpower it.

He looks up from his page, and when he sees me, his eyes sparkle. “Oh, hi Blake. What’s up?”

I smile.

I am no parent, was never any good at acting like one, but I know that I can be a good sister. Finley and I are a pair of starfish, ready to separate. But no matter how far apart we go, it doesn’t matter if I’m living next door or across the country, I will always be there.

I breathe in deeply.

I will not be afraid.

“Hey kid, you got a minute? There’s something I’ve got to tell you.”