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Actually, it isn’t. I’d rather live at home with them and play housekeeper all summer than grovel for money. “I don’t want a loan. I was just asking about my options.”

He laughs disdainfully. “Sounds to me like you don’t have any!”

“So is that a no? I can’t work at the school?”

“How on earth could you with your summer class?”

“You always say you need part-time help, and my class is only three days a week.”

“SometimesI need part-time help. And June’s fully staffed. I took care of that months ago,” he boasts. “July is ... supposedlytaken care of, but already one of my counselors is hemming and hawing about her availability. How someone can make it through postsecondary education without the ability to make a short-term commitment is beyond me.”

My dad will take any opportunity to drag young people. I start leafing through the newspaper someone left on the table while my dad makes sweeping accusations about an entire generation.

“In any case,” he continues, “I don’t suppose you could commit to August, with fall semester starting.”

“Right.” I flip to the classifieds page near the back of the paper. “But I can do some admin stuff in the office. Or I’ll work in the preschool; you’re always complaining about turnover there.” I love helping with the little kids, especially the toddlers.

My dad makes a disapproving noise. “They’re possibilities,” he says grumpily. “I’ll have to think about it and discuss it with your mother. And you’d be living with us, correct?”

I swallow the absolute dread that rises up. “Yes.”

“What about your class?”

“Yeah, it’d be a lot of commuting, but it’s possible.”

“You’d be expected to contribute to the household,” he warns. “Meals, of course.”

“Sure.” My cooking is the one thing my parents always compliment me on.

“As well as chores and keeping your room tidy. Plus a curfew. We don’t care how you live at college. In our home, there will be rules and expectations.”

Despair washes over me. I can’t do this. Not this summer, and not ever again. It’s not the curfew, it’s the fucking control. The smarmy sound of his voice, him laying down the law because no matter where he finds himself, he has to exert his power. Without it, he’s nothing. My eyes land on a small classified ad in the lower left corner of the page:College girlswanted.I know the name of the business and I know what we’re wanted for.

“Yeah, I get that, Dad,” I say quickly. “So talk it over with Mom and let me know. It’s just one idea I had; you know, if some other job options don’t work out.”

“What other job options?” He sounds bewildered to learn I’m not completely at his mercy, which is fair, because until ten seconds ago, I was.

“Just some other things I’m exploring. Let’s talk in a few days.”

“Ruby, if you accept a job at the school, I won’t tolerate you changing your mind at the last minute.”

“I’m not going to, Richard!” I snap. “That’s why I’m not committing to anything right now. I’m only asking what the possibilities are. Can we just have a discussion?”

“Fine, Ruby. We’ll have a discussion—that’s if there’s anything to discuss.”

“Great,” I say dryly. “So let me know if there is. Thanks.”

We exchange a terse goodbye and hang up. I want to fucking scream.

I can’t live with my parents, I can’t work for them, I can’t grovel to them. My excitement about the aquarium job was never really about the fish, beautiful and interesting as they are. No, it was about freedom and holding on to my dignity, knowing I’d never have to rely on my parents. I need a job to get me through this summer; then I’ll have nine months to figure out how to build myself a life independent of them, their money, and their control. I have to get free, no matter what it takes.

I glance back at the classified ad and dial the number.

“All went perfectly,”Dr. Halpert tells me a couple of hours later. “Couldn’t have been better. You can tell him I said so.”

He runs down a brief list of aftercare instructions, reassuring me the nurse will go over it all again in more detail, double-checks that I have his cell phone number, and then he’s off, his white coat flapping behind him.

I text Gina to let her know everything went well, and a nurse brings me back to a recovery area that smells of citrus and peroxide.