Jackson’s dad picks us up from school and takes us all home. Well, except that Jen comes to my house for our tutor session. I don’t speak to Jackson’s dad, but I try not to look at him like a cop. He’s Jackson’s dad, and that has to mean something, right?

I take a deep breath.

Unfortunately, trust is something you can’t force.

I’m feeling about a thousand times better now than before our beanbag war. My heart is lighter, and even though I’m still scared and feel completely guilty for misleading Jackson, I know I made the right choice.

This is just something I have to live with.

As Jen and I study, Mom gives us Cheetos and chocolate milk for a snack. Weird combination, I know, but actually pretty good.

Jen finally asks me about what happened at school.

I shrug. “I just let Marissa and Brandon get to me.” Which is true. I hate that I let them get under my skin…they just hit me with a seriously low blow.

Jen is still quiet, but she’s opening up. She not the kind of person I’d usually be friends with, but we both need friends. We’re both kind of messed up.

Mom invites Jen to stay for dinner, but she declines, keeping her eyes cast low.

I walk her to the front door, then tell her good-bye and watch her walk away, alone, down the sidewalk.

I wish she’d be more confident. Hold her head higher or something. But I kind of understand why she doesn’t after what she went through with Brandon. You only have to be told once that you don’t always have a choice before you realize the truth. You’ll never have as much power as you thought you had. Not over yourself. Not over your destiny. Not at all.

Dinner’s quiet, and I notice that my father still won’t look at me. Mom is pretty good at faking nice-happy, but at least I can pretend our shopping trip made a difference, at least a little bit.

We’re about to go our separate ways, Mom to do the dishes, me to my room, when my father clears his throat.

“We haven’t had a chance to catch up,” he says. “So you two enjoyed your little outing over the weekend?”

I don’t dare meet his eyes. I shrug and pick at what’s left on my plate.

“Darling?” he says, looking at my mom, and he frowns when she smiles but doesn’t answer. “Not speaking tonight, are we?”

No choice now. Why couldn’t he have stayed at work tonight?

My mother opens her mouth but then shuts it. I feel like I’m missing something here. Some part of an argument I wasn’t in on.

“Go ahead. Tell me about it,” he says, his hand clenching into a fist on the table—a show of power.

“I…took her shopping.”

“Shopping, huh?”

“We had a nice time,” I say, stepping in, unsure exactly how to help. My mother must not have told him about the shopping trip. Does he know about the dress?

“And what did you buy?” he says calmly.

My mother swallows and smiles. “We got Anna the prettiest dress.” She glances at him. “It’s very respectable. Modest.” Then she glances at me. “But still beautiful.”

My father slowly nods. “Beautiful. Well then, let’s see it.”

Mom freezes. “What?”

“The dress.” He wipes his mouth with his napkin, a careful, deliberate motion. Controlled. “Let’s see it.”

The dress is in my room. I should have taken it to Jackson’s. To school. Somewhere far away from here. Far away from him.

“I’ll go get it,” Mom says. She rises from the table.

“No,” he says. “Let Anna.”

I swallow. He rubs his napkin over his hands, as though wiping any hint of dirt away. Cleaning them for some special purpose.

My mom’s eyes have gone wide. She wants to be there for me. And I guess I want to be there for her, too. We both know the only way out of this. We have to play along.

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I’ll be right back.”

Three years ago, I would have taken my time going to my room and coming back. But all I can think of is my mom in the kitchen with him. Alone, under his cold stare.

So I go to my room and take the dress—hanging in its plastic garment bag—out from my closet. I go back down the hallway, the dress held close to me, and I hate that even now, telling him no isn’t an option.

I hear his voice when I get close to the kitchen.

“Did you think I wouldn’t know about it? Really, Nora? You used my credit card.”

“I’m sorry, Martin. I just wanted to spend a little time with her. She’s my daughter.”

“She’s my daughter, too! And she will do exactly as I say. And so will you. Or by God, I’ll put you in line, too.”

My hands and the dress they’re holding shake. It would be so easy to drop the dress. To forget about all of this and run out of the house and back to the city. But then I hear my mom’s voice.

“Martin, you know she’s trying. We’re trying—”

“I’ve got it,” I say as I come into the kitchen. I stop by the counter.

My father straightens, then holds his hands out, gesturing for me to continue. “Don’t just stand there. Take it out of the plastic.”

I swallow and do what he says. I kneel down and carefully remove the dress from the garment bag, and then I stand up and hold the dress in front of me so that it can be seen unfolded to its full length.

It’s more gorgeous than I remembered. That black and pink zigzag pattern on the top is perfect. Maybe not perfect for Project Runway or whatever, but absolutely perfect for me. And that’s why I’m afraid.

“Okay, Anna,” Mom says. “You should put it back so it doesn’t get dirty—”

“Bring it here,” Dad says. “Let me get a good look.”

I step closer, the dress held to my chest, and stop a few feet away from him.

He wipes his hands again, lays the napkin down—

And snatches the dress from me so quickly, I can still feel its phantom weight in my hands.

“What are you—” I start to say, in such shock the words are out before I can stop them.

He raises his index finger. “Don’t.” He holds the dress with one hand, looks it up and down.

Mom says, “Martin, please. You’re being—”

He slams his hand onto the table. The dishes clank. “I said don’t!” His fist clenches around the waist of the dress. I wince just a little, knowing he’s already wrinkled it and hoping he doesn’t ruin it completely. Any second he could flip and rip it apart.

“Martin,” she whispers, tears filling her eyes. “It’s not her fault. I bought her the dress…”

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” he says to my mother. “The things you talk about when I’m not here? The things you do when you go out together?”

I don’t know what happened to push him over the edge, maybe nothing, or maybe another argument with my mother. But I do know that he’s close to his breaking point. He might already be there.

It takes everything I have not to leap forward and grab the dress from his hands, but the look in his eyes tells me today isn’t the day to mess with him. I’ve been in situations like this before. Him. The johns. Even Luis. When they’re angry, there’s nothing to do but play along and hope today isn’t the day they explode.

“Dad?” I say in a light tone, trying to pull him back. Trying to sound as innocent as possible.

“It is my fault,” he says to himself. “My fault we’re in this mess. If I hadn’t let her coddle you”—he means my mom—“none of this would have happened. Well, you can be sure that’s not going to happen again. I won’t let you ruin this family.”

“Okay,” I say.

He cocks his head. “Okay?”

I nod. “Okay.” He’s never seen this trick before. Three years ago, I’d have shouted at him, run to my room, hidden until he came inside to unleash his fury. But now I know better. You don’t want to get hurt? Then don’t ask for it.

He shakes his head slowly, and when he looks at the dress again, his nostrils flare in disgust. “You’re out of your mind—you’re both out of your minds—if you think I’m letting you go to this dance.”