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"You from Seattle, Rose?" asked Wally while taking a giant bite of one of the biscuits. He poured himself some tea.

"Um… yes. Are-are you?" I stumbled over my words, and with the number of people in the room combined with the unified anxiety shared between me and Sam, my insides felt ready to melt down.

"Sure am. Born and raised." He took a deep breath and let out a dramatic sigh. His silliness made me smile and it seemed to loosen up Samirah a bit. She sipped her tea, though her eyes continued to dart toward the others.

Mrs. Flynn's volume increased and both Wally and Sam shot daggers at Farid.

"Dad, really?" Wally dropped his biscuit on the plate with a clatter.

Sam's hands balled to fists and she held Farid's glare when he stared her down. His dark, almost black eyes scared the life out of me, and I gulped down the fear that tightened my throat. He said something to Sam that had her shaking with rage as she squeezed her fists tighter. Mrs. Flynn, her lips pursed and expression tense, didn't say anything, but I could tell she wasn't happy.

Wally stood up and moved himself to stand between Sam and the old man. "Leave her alone already, Da."

"Mind your manners," the old man croaked and gave Wally a weak shove.

"You mind yours. Leave her alone," Wally shot back.

Farid's eyes left Sam and fell on me. A smirk tugged the corner of his mouth and he said, "She's a little girl. You like little white girls, Samirah?" His accent, much thicker than Mrs. Flynn's, made everything he said sit hard in my gut. He meant every word of the joust he took at Sam's expense. I wanted so badly to defend her, to stand up and punch him in the dentures, but I couldn't. This man struck a chord of fear so loudly that it paralyzed me in my seat.

"Don't look at her," spat Sam, her body tensing as she made to rise from her seat.

"Dad, c'mon." Wally ushered the old man from the room and he shuffled along, arguing with him the whole way, or so it seemed.

Mrs. Flynn returned her attention to us, her brows narrowed as she reached for Sam's shoulder, but she swatted her hand away.

"You don't say anything to defend me," she burst forth as she stood, her voice hiccupping with it. "You just let him come in here and say that to me every time." She reached back, grabbing my hand in her trembling fist. "You let him in your home and let him tell me how I deserve to die. Call me a pedophile. How I deserve to be raped and beaten and you say nothing. In front of someone I love and you let him treat me like that, Mom."

Tears streamed down my cheeks when I heard her translate whatever her uncle said to her. Sam wrapped her arm around me, then cautiously pulled the scarf from my head. She did the same with her own, then dropped both on the floor at her mother's feet.

"We're leaving."

"Samirah, I—" Mrs. Flynn made to step toward us but Sam backed away.

She held up her hand and turned her back on her mother. She stormed out, with me in tow, and we scooped up our shoes on the way. The minute our socked feet hit the cold pavement, Sam choked on a sob, swung around, and lifted me clear off the ground. I wrapped my arms and legs around her as she breathed heavily against me. The adrenaline surged through her, her arms trembling as she carried me to the SUV.

She settled me on the passenger seat, and I cried quietly while I stroked her face. Her rage permeated the air around us and she pressed a single finger to my lips.

"We are never, ever coming back here," she said, her words barely audible through her clenched teeth. "Ever."

I nodded and she cupped my face in her hands, both of us breathless heaps of tears. She buckled me in the car, then climbed over my lap after shutting the door. She started the engine, and we tore out of there, like we'd just left the scene of an arson we'd started.