“I have thought seriously about what I want to do.” I’m leaning forward in my chair, every muscle taut. My jaw aches from the tension. “I want to work with homeless youth. There’s someone I’m going to talk to—”

“Are you out of your mind?” Dad snaps, just as Mom mutters, “This isn’t going to end well.”

“This is what I want! There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There’s lots wrong with that. Lots!” Dad gets up and looms over me. “This isn’t what your mom and I worked our asses off for, so you could have a nice house, and nice clothes, and a chance to go to college. You’re throwing away all our efforts, all these years lost—”

“I’m not throwing anything away.” I inch back in my seat, but anger pushes down my fear. “I just want to do what makes me happy. I’m not going to feel guilty about that.”

“You listen to me now, young lady…” Dad bends over me and jabs a finger at my chest. I flinch and fear returns. He’s a big man, and I’m tiny, like Mom. I’ve never been afraid of him before, but he’s so angry spit flies out of his mouth, and my blood runs cold.

Dad won’t hit me, I tell myself. He never has. But when he grabs my arm, gripping me painfully tight, I can’t help but think that Blake also never hit me, and yet he’s held me like this, bruising me, forcing me to stay when all I want is to leave.

“John, stop it,” Mom says, and I think I hear fear in her voice, as well.

“Dad, let her go right now,” a male voice says.

Dad jerks and releases me so that I fall back in the seat, my breath leaving my lungs.

Joel is standing there, a hand gripping Dad’s arm. His blue eyes glitter with anger. “Don’t you touch her again.”

“You don’t get to order me around, Joey,” Dad mutters, but he walks away from me and shoves his hands into the pockets of his black pants. “I wasn’t going to hurt her.”

“You already have,” Joel says and glances at me uncertainly.

“I’m okay,” I say, my voice small, but the truth is, I’m not. Not because of the ache in my arm, but a deeper one.

I can’t stay here a moment longer. But when I try to get up, my legs refuse to take my weight, and I sink back down.

Joel holds out his hand. “Come on, Evie.”

He helps me up, and I stand by his side. Dad is giving me his back, and Mom is staring at me with tears in her eyes as if I’m dying or something.

“I’ll visit you,” I say, mostly because I can’t stand to see her so sad. “I’m not going far, Mom.”

She says nothing.

“She’ll be fine,” Joel says. And with that, he pulls me out of the room and into the cold night air.

***

Joel doesn’t say much else that night. He drives me to his apartment, which he shares with his ever-absent friend Jethro, and throws some folded sheets on the couch.

“You take my bed,” he says, “I’ll take the sofa.”

He must be kidding me. I don’t even want to know what action his bed has seen since he moved out of our parent’s house three years ago. “I’ll be fine on the couch, Joey.” I see a new frown forming on his face and grab the sheets to forestall an argument. “Honest. Thanks for standing up for me and taking me in. I wanted…”

He’s staring at me, and suddenly I don’t know what I want to say. The reality of it all hits me. I’ve left home. I’m on my own for the first time ever.

“You can stay for a while,” Joel says. “Jethro won’t mind.”

Since Jethro is never here, he probably won’t even notice. I clutch the sheets to my chest. I’ll have to return home at some point and grab my things—clothes, shoes, books, knickknacks.

Oh my God, I’ve left home. I sink heavily on the sofa, my knees knocking together. Which is ridiculous. I’m nineteen, for chrissakes, not twelve. Others leave the nest much earlier.

Deep breaths now, Ev.

“You okay?” Joel asks, sitting by my side.

“Yeah.”

I just need a place to stay, one I can afford. Share an apartment. Cassie. She said she may have something for me.

I can do this.

“Let me see your arm.” He takes my hand, but I don’t let him push up the sleeve.

“I said I’m okay, Joey. I really am.” I hold his gaze until he drops my hand.

“If you’d stayed with Blake,” he mutters, “he’d look after you. Dad and Mom trust him and wouldn’t worry so much about you, and this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Dad and Mom should trust me, not a stranger.”

“He’s your boyfriend, not some stranger.”

“Dammit, Joey, he’s not my boyfriend anymore! And I don’t need him to take care of me.”

I turn away from him and do my best to swallow my disappointment. Bitterness fills me. Even Joel doesn’t trust me. Despite his help this evening, he doesn’t think I can take care of myself, much less others. Why? What did I ever do to make them all think I can’t cut it?

“Get some sleep,” Joel says, and the sofa springs creak as he gets up. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

It seems to me there’s nothing more to talk about. And it doesn’t matter. I’m here. I’ll make this work. I have to.

***

But in the morning Joel leaves before I wake up. A message on my phone informs me he’s got practice on campus and won’t be back all day.

So much for talking. Though I’m secretly glad to avoid more arguments and fighting. Glad for the quiet.

I take out my phone. I want to talk to Micah, tell him what happened. He hasn’t texted me or tried to call me since I left his apartment last night. Telling myself it’s nothing, that of course he doesn’t have to text me all night, even after the things we talked about, I sigh and put the phone down.

Not feeling like talking much, either, at this moment. I just wish… How selfish it is of me to wish he’d called me? His voice would make everything better, but I have no right to expect anything from him. He’s not my boyfriend. We’re not an item.

Are we?

We barely know each other, and after pushing him to open up yesterday… Maybe I should mark the day in my calendar: the day I got over my fear of Blake, my fear of leaving home, and pushed Micah over the edge.

Damn.

Joel’s apartment is downtown, so I have more time than usual to get ready. I keep expecting the mysterious Jethro to walk into the living room or the kitchen, but he doesn’t. Big surprise. I’m not sure I even know what he looks like.

I pull my hair back into my customary ponytail, zip up my jacket and grab my bag. I look at myself in the bathroom mirror and tuck a stray strand behind my ear. The memory of last night slams back into me, and I wince. I kinda hate my family right now.

Then I think of Micah who never really had one and feel bad. At least I know my family cares for me, even if they don’t trust me. They’re overwhelming, but they’ve looked after me all my life.

Deciding I’ll call Mom later on and ask how she is, I walk out and head to work.

The guy I’ve caught watching me from across the street is there again, smoking a cigarette. His dark eyes follow me as I hurry to enter the sports store. What’s his problem? It’s not Blake, but could Blake have sent someone to keep tabs on me?

Ice coats my insides at the thought, but then Cassie intercepts me and pulls me to the back of the store to ask how it all went. I take a deep breath and tell her everything—about Micah and Seth, the fight with my parents, the fight with Joel. It feels good to get it off my chest, and she keeps telling me it will be all right, and it will all work out.

She’s sweet, but a part of me is sad it’s not Micah asking me, concerned about me.

He’ll text, I tell myself. Micah cares for me. He isn’t a one-stand kind of guy. We shared more than just sex. Mind-blowing sex. Still. He cares.

Right?

Work takes my mind off things for a while. Around midday I check my phone and still nothing. Disappointment threatens to drown me. Bad things happen in clusters, and this day is going to hell.