Today, I don’t feel like a hooker.

I walk through my front door to see Zara wagging her tail at me. I look in the kitchen. No sign of my mother.

I figure I should move Zara to the backyard before Jen comes over this time. Don’t need to freak the poor girl out again.

I unclip Zara and call her to the back door.

She follows me out. I don’t really want to just clip her in and go, so I look around for a second. She sits, her chest puffed out all proud, and watches me. I find a stick, pick it up, and wave it in front of her. She wags her tail and follows the stick with her eyes. Then she jumps at it, but I pull it away at the last second.

She barks at me, not mean, more like she’s saying, “Throw it already!”

So I do. I throw it and she runs after it, but she gets surprised when I run after it, too. She’s a lot faster, so she gets to it first and then runs around me, taunting.

I laugh and chase after her. She runs around the tree and then stops. I wait, then she sneaks her head over a little to look at me. I run at her suddenly, stomping my feet. She drops the stick and runs away, then stops and crouches. Her mouth’s open, her tongue’s out. If a dog can look happy, this one does.

“Haha!” I say as I lean over to pick up the stick.

She crouches lower, but I throw it before she jumps on me to get it.

I hear the sliding glass door open. “What are you doing?” my mother asks.

Both Zara and I stop and look up.

“Playing,” I say.

She puts her hands on her hips.

“Come inside, please.”

I give Zara a look and a shrug. I clip her back onto her chain, and then I slowly walk up to my mother, leaving Zara standing there watching us.

My mom closes the door behind us slowly.

“That dog is not safe.”

“She’s only not safe because you treat her like she’s not.” She doesn’t get it. She never has.

But now she’s looking at me with what seems genuine curiosity. “What does that mean?”

Fine. If she wants to know, I’ll tell her. “It means she’s lonely. If her only interaction with people is hitting and yelling, what do you expect her to do?”

“So running around in the backyard with a dangerous dog is going to make the dog not dangerous?”

“How else is she supposed to learn to trust people?”

She glances at the dog, then back at me. “What if it’s too late for her to learn how to trust people? What if she needs a…”

“A what?” I can feel my voice shaking, but there’s no stopping it. “A firm hand?”

Her eyes go wide, and something flickers across her face. I’m not sure what it was, but I think it’s fear.

“No,” she says. “But after everything that’s happened, I need to know you won’t do anything that could get you hurt. I want you to be safe.” Her eyes seem to get sad. “I want to be able to trust that you’ll make the right decisions.”

I turn away from her, my mind flashing through all the wrong decisions I’ve made. I hate that she’s actually right. But more, I hate that she still just doesn’t get it. My heart pounds wildly as I turn back to her, slowly.

“You sure as hell never trusted me, that’s for sure. I was just a kid, but you treated me like I was evil,” I say, my face burning red, my voice getting high and louder than I mean it to. I wonder how much of that was my father, but I can’t excuse her. I can’t. She never said a word to refute my father’s words. “Automatically, everything I did was wrong, and you never, not once, stopped to listen to my story! It’s always my fault. I’m always wrong. Well, I can’t live like that, and neither can that dog. It’s not fair!”

I squeeze my eyes closed, unsure why I even bother. I knew she wouldn’t understand. She never does.

“Anna,” she says softly. “I didn’t know.” I catch a glimpse of that thing that might be fear crossing her face again. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

They’re the words I always wanted her to say, but they feel wrong. Utterly and completely wrong.

“I’m sorry,” I say before she can say anything else. My eyes sting with tears. “I’m sorry I’m the horrible daughter who could never do anything right. Who ruined everything when I ran away. I wish I could be the perfect daughter you both need me to be. But I can’t. And I’m sick of trying.”

I sit down at the table with a flop, like I’m too exhausted to stand anymore. I cover my mouth with my hand for a moment, trying to stop myself from crying.

She shakes her head. “I only ever wanted the best for you,” she whispers.

I don’t respond. I can’t. There’s nothing more to say.

“I just…want you to leave that dog alone,” she says.

“Yeah, good luck with that.” I stand suddenly. Why does she have to do this? It’s so stupid.

When I was younger, I let my father tell me whom I could be friends with. I let him steal my childhood from me because I didn’t know what else to do. And my mom never stopped him. She was like his silent partner. He took whatever he wanted, and she let him get away with it.

I won’t let them take anything else.

If I have to sneak around to be nice to a dog, then I will. But if I have to fight head-on, I’ll do that too.

I walk to my room without another word. When I slam the door behind me, I feel like a child again, like I’m eleven years old.

Jen comes over a few minutes later. Both my mother and I pretend like nothing happened. Like we didn’t fight at all. It’s a skill, one I clearly inherited.

Jen helps me with math and all my homework. She gives me an easy book to write my English paper on and says I should read it this weekend. Um, she seriously expects me to read it in two days?

About that.

It is small, though, so I guess I can at least start it and see how far I get.

I find myself watching the clock, eager for four o’clock to come. Not because I don’t like Jen, but because I’m…well, shit, I’m kind of excited to hang out with Jackson.

Jen leaves, and I head to my room to pretend I’m not waiting for something. Someone. Finally the doorbell rings and I fling open my bedroom door, but my mother answers the front door first.

I stand at the end of the hallway, watching awkwardly.

“Hi, Jackson. Is something wrong with that dog again?” she asks.

“No, ma’am. I’m actually here for Anna. We have a project to work on together.”

“Oh,” she says, her shoulders stiff. She turns to see me smiling innocently.

I run past her and out the door before she says anything else. “See ya, Mom.”

“Wait, Anna!” my mother calls.

I almost don’t stop. I don’t want another argument with her, and I’m afraid that’s all our relationship will ever be. But there’s something in her voice that stops me. It’s quiet, almost scared.

So I stop. I don’t turn around, but she doesn’t need me to.

“I just…” Her voice is quiet. “Want to make sure…you’re okay.” She pauses, and now I turn around to urge her to finish. “I mean, you’re coming home tonight, right?”

My mouth falls open. “You think I’m going partying or something?”

“No!” she says, her face suddenly turning red. “No, I just…” She swallows. “The last time you left…you didn’t come back.” She shifts her feet. “I never saw that coming, and after our argument today…”

I blink, all anger gone. “Oh,” I say, looking to the ground.

I want to say that I wouldn’t make that mistake again, but that would be admitting it was a mistake. I mean, it was, but that’s not something I want to admit to her, or to anyone. But I have to say something.

I step forward and do something I don’t remember ever doing before. I wrap my arms around her. For a moment she stiffens, like she’s in shock, but then she relaxes and hugs me back.

It’s a weird moment. I’m not sure when to let go, or what to say.

“I’m sorry,” I finally get out.

I hear her sniffle and wonder if she’s crying. When I finally let go, feeling a little embarrassed, I turn away before I can see her tears.