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Graduation came without ceremony—for me at least, which should have come as no surprise. Didn't matter that I graduated as a salutatorian. My parents were as disappointed in my existence as ever.

"If you had paid better attention, maybe you would've graduated as valedictorian," Dad had grumbled after receiving notice of my accomplishment.

Even when I succeed, I'm a failure.

Ricky was impressed though and made a point of telling me I could do so much more with my "giant brain" than waste it on the Army.

His words, not mine.

I guessed he wasn't wrong about that. I could've easily gotten a scholarship to just about any school of my choice.

I could've gone away to college, majored in something impressive, and lived it up miles and miles away.

Partying, making friends, sleeping with girls …

all without my father's watchful eye looming over my shoulder.

But it would've been a waste.

Just as Dad had said, I didn't have any interests, apart from reading. I didn't have any academic desires. The one and only thing I wanted in my life was to leave and for my sisters to be okay while I was gone. That was all.

Well …

Maybe it wasn't the only thing I wanted, but it was the only thing I could have. It was the only obtainable thing.

Especially when Laura had kept her promise.

I hadn’t spoken to her again after prom.

She never sat with us at lunch, never snuck a peek at me in the hallway, never took a chance at meeting with me after school.

She had been a ghost, barely an apparition that materialized through the corner of my eye every so often, only to disappear when I turned to glance.

But it’s for the better , I told myself as I packed for basic training, and it was. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

The day before I was scheduled to leave, Ricky risked showing up at my doorstep.

I had seen him come up the walkway and hoped he'd think better of it and turn around, but the bastard actually rang the doorbell, and one of my sisters must've answered because Dad was at work and Mom hadn't yet left her bedroom.

I flopped backward onto my bed, squeezed my eyes shut, and prayed he'd give up and leave.

But the next thing I knew, Grace was calling up the stairs, "Max? Some guy is here! "

I thought about calling back, thought about telling her to make him leave.

I didn't want an awkward send-off before I left for ten weeks.

I didn't want him to say some stuff that wouldn't make any difference in my leaving or not.

I didn't want him to tell me about how heartbroken Laura was …

even if she had said she'd never speak or think of me again.

I just wanted to go as peacefully as I could, knowing damn well my sisters wouldn't allow that to happen without some tears shed.

"Max!" she called again, and then there were murmurs from downstairs.

Her voice. Lucy's voice, with a slightly more nasally cadence due to her deviated septum. Then Ricky's voice rumbled something, and my sisters both giggled.

I huffed over the exchange and rolled out of bed. My feet thundered down the hallway, not caring if Mom's sleep or whatever she was doing was interrupted, and I descended the staircase.

Then there was Ricky, standing in the living room. He looked out of place, being here, in my house. Everything felt out of place. I wasn't supposed to have friends here. I wasn't supposed to have friends, period. God, if Dad suddenly came home and saw him standing there …

"What are you doing here?" I demanded, brows lowered over my eyes.

He offered an apologetic smile, like he understood. Of course he did. He knew about the situation with my dad—or at least the surface of it—and that should've been enough! What if he had been home? It was reckless, and Ricky must have known that, right? And if he did, what kind of—

"I made sure his car wasn't here," he said, skipping the greetings, as I had.

I glanced out the open front door toward the driveway. Of course. There was only one car. Mom hardly ever drove, and I didn't drive at all.

"I just wanted to say goodbye," he added ruefully.

"I'll be back in ten weeks," I muttered, finally leaving the last step to enter the living room.

He stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets and huffed a humorless chuckle. "Yeah, but … not really."

He was right again. The plan was, I’d get a pass to see my sisters for a few days before heading for Advanced Individual Training, making sure they were okay, and then depart once again.

I didn't even know if I'd be able to see him during my time back home or how long my pass would even be approved for—the shorter, the better, as far as I was concerned.

Enough to check on my sisters and ensure my father was holding up his end of the bargain—that, in my absence, he was letting them live their lives in peace.

And then … I would be gone for a year, give or take. And after that, who knew?

Moving from base to base.

Deployment.

War.

Maybe I’ll die , I thought, and the fact that I felt an immediate sense of pure relief at the idea probably should’ve concerned me more than it did .

Grace and Lucy stood nearby, their eyes volleying between Ricky and me expectantly.

I wondered if it surprised them that I had a friend who wanted to see me off.

I wondered if it surprised them that I had a friend at all.

He’d been a well-kept secret for years, and now, I wished he hadn’t been.

I wished I’d had a choice. I wished they had known him all this time.

I wished he’d been allowed to join my family the way I’d joined him and his mom.

I gestured a hand toward my sisters. “I guess I should, um … introduce you—"

“We met,” Ricky replied with a half smile in their direction.

“But can you tell us apart?” Lucy challenged, crossing her arms over her chest.

Her T-shirt collar shifted to reveal a white strap over her shoulder.

I had tried to not notice that my sisters were growing up and needed things like bras and the boxes of period stuff in the bathroom we shared, but that was becoming exceedingly difficult with every passing day.

They were changing. We all were, I guessed, but I didn’t notice it as much in myself.

How different would they look after I came back from basic training? What about after AIT?

“That’s not fair!” Ricky barked with a laugh, his eyes glimmering with mirth and … was that interest ? “You can’t test me after we just met five minutes ago. I’d need at least … I don’t know … ten minutes or—"

“So, uh, you wanna do something? Maybe?” I asked, suddenly needing to get out of the house.

He raised his brows, surprised. “Can you? ”

I knew the question wasn’t meant to poke fun at the life I lived under my father’s rule. But that was how it seemed.

My face heated with embarrassment as I filled my lungs. Then I pushed forward to the open door and said, “What the hell is he going to do? I leave tomorrow.”

***

For the first time ever, I went out to McDonald’s with Ricky.

I couldn't say for sure, as there were at least several years of my life I no longer had any recollection of, but as far as I was aware, I thought it might be the first time I'd ever been to a McDonald's, period.

I didn't let on though. I didn't want Ricky to laugh at me or at the turbulence of excitement racing through my bones.

But, man, I wanted to cry, stepping through the doors of that fast-food restaurant and straight into a cloud of salt and grease and chatter and goodness.

And right after that thrill came an irrefutable anger that my father had never allowed me this simple joy.

"You want anything?" Ricky asked, stepping up to the register, where a kid I vaguely recognized from school waited to take his order.

"Uh …" I glanced at the menu, pretending to read. I didn't have any money on me, and even if I did, I wouldn't know the first thing about what to order. "You know what? I'm okay. I had a late lunch. I—"

"I'm buying, man," Ricky said knowingly, his eyes meeting mine. "Get something. "

My lips pressed shut as I swallowed. "You, uh … you don't have to do that."

"Come on. You're leaving . Let me do this."

As if that changed everything. And I guessed it did.

I swallowed again. "Okay," I conceded. "I guess I'll get a, um …"

Realization seemed to dawn on him as he tipped his head to the side, considering me with speculation. "Wait. Have you ever been here before?"

He should've known better than to ask. He knew how tight of a leash my father kept me on. I hesitated for a moment before shaking my head in what I hoped was a subtle way, not wanting anyone else to notice the idiotic eighteen-year-old who'd never been to a freakin' McDonald's.

Ricky didn't make a scene. Didn't laugh or gawk. He just grunted a small, nearly indistinguishable sound before clapping a hand against my shoulder with a nod. Then he walked the few feet to the kid waiting at the counter.

"Hey, Mike. Two large Big Mac meals, please," he ordered, then turned to me. "What do you wanna drink?"

"Um … Coke?" I said it as a question, not knowing what McDonald's had to offer in the way of drinks.

"You want a Coke too, Rick?" Mike asked, punching keys on the register.

"Yeah, thanks."

Guilt washed over me as Ricky handed Mike a twenty-dollar bill.

Nobody, outside of my parents, had ever bought me anything before, and even that had been limited to the bare necessities for as long as I could remember.

Watching my friend pay for my dinner brought on a strange coalescence of gratitude and shame, and I sighed, not liking it, but feeling so appreciative that I could cry.

I need to get myself together. The Army doesn't want to recruit pansies who are going to cry at the drop of a hat.