Page 2

one

Nilah Dune

Ignoring people was kind of my thing. I’d been doing it since forever that it came as easy as breathing to me now.

You’re right there on the sidewalk as I walk by? No, you’re not.

You’re at the grocery store in line behind me? Probably imagined it.

You waved at me from across the street and called my name? Must have been someone else ‘cuz it wasn’t me.

But I saw those middle fingers, Sam! I saw you, you fucking insufferable, pimple-covered, brain-dead leech.

Those words remained inside me, though. I didn’t say them out loud.

But, yes, ignoring people—who called me names and blew on my hair from behind when I was standing in line at Target or who waved their middle fingers at me for all to see—was my thing, but going after the people I cared about?

That’s when things changed. Forget ignoring—we had a real problem then.

“Hold on, let me get some ice,” I said, putting Dad’s hand over the kitchen towel I’d used to wipe the blood from his nose, but he still had a Ping-Pong-sized swelling around his left eye, and I could have sworn that it was getting bigger.

So, I grabbed a bag of frozen peas from the freezer and slapped it on the side of his face, which then made him hiss. “Ow—watch it, Nilah!”

I grabbed the towel from his hands and threw it in the sink—I’d have to wash it by hand with cold water first.

“What happened, Alan?” I demanded. “And don’t you dare lie to me.”

“ Alan? ” He sat up straighter on the chair. “I am your father, young lady!”

“ My father would know better than to get in fights and come home in the middle of the day with a bleeding nose and a bruised eye,” I said, and maybe it was a bit harsh, but goddamn it, I was so pissed off.

“I work in construction. I fell—I’m allowed to fall, aren’t I?” he said and stood up, went to the sink to wash his hands, one then the other while he held the frozen peas to his temple still.

“What the hell happened, Dad? Seriously— why ? And don’t lie!”

He lied. He always lied. And I was hopeful that maybe he wouldn’t try to lie again, as if hoping had ever gotten me anywhere (it hadn’t).

“I fell ,” he insisted, then turned to me, put the frozen peas down, flinched. “How bad is it?”

I rolled my eyes. “You fell on someone’s freaking fist, is that it?”

“Watch your tone, young lady. You’ve only been eighteen for a couple months,” he said and turned around to leave.

I ran and stopped in front of him. “Why did you pick a fight, Dad? Who did you pick a fight with? Was it…” I grabbed him by the shoulders. “Was it because of me?”

Because the other three fights he’d gotten into in the past two years had all been about me no matter what he said. And I hated myself plenty for it— plenty. But right now, it was easier to focus the anger outward instead of in.

“No, it was not.” Lies. “I was working with Jimmy in that new pool for the Parkers, and I fell. End of story.” More lies. “Now I need to go take a shower. Do you mind?”

Tears in my eyes—angry ones. I stepped to the side and I tried to hide it, tried to stop the stupid tears, but they were too powerful. Anger consumed me, together with its BFF— guilt. Together, they were impossible to hold back, so Dad saw.

He grabbed my face in his hands, raised it until our eyes met. “It was nothing, Nilah. Don’t feel bad. I’m perfectly fine and you’re perfectly fine and we’re going to be okay.”

His lips on my forehead burned my skin a little bit.

I nodded so fast that those traitorous tears came rolling out of my eyes all at once. “Yeah, yeah, okay.”

“I love you, pup,” Dad said as he went for the stairs.

“Love you!” I called so loudly I hurt my own ears.

Then I went out back, hid behind the biggest bush in our yard, and cried for three minutes straight. It was just to let the anger out. Its BFF was way more persistent, though, but I’d gotten used to ignoring it.

Because Dad was right—we would be okay. It was fine. Men got into fist fights all the time—it didn’t mean that it was about me.

“Not everything is about you, you know,” I said to myself, then smiled at my own stupidity.

If I started talking to myself now, too, I just might convince myself that every person who lived in this town was right when they said I was completely fucked up in the head.

But my little sister would be back home from school soon, and I needed to get my shit together before she saw me crying. So, I wiped my eyes and went back to the kitchen to wash that towel—and to pretend for another day that everything was just fine.

Everything was not just fine.

My little sister and my dad meant everything to me. They were all I had. Mom died such a long time ago that I sometimes struggled to remember her face. If it wasn’t for pictures, I would have completely forgotten what she looked like. But the two of them were all I had, and this town was known to make their lives a living hell because of me—but this was crossing the line.

Last night Fiona was at a birthday party. One of the girls from her class had invited her, which had come as a surprise. She didn’t have many friends—again, because of me. But she’d gone and then she’d come back, and I could have sworn that there had been something off about her. She promised me it was nothing, that she was just tired, and she didn’t even take her jacket off before going upstairs to sleep.

The thing is, she never went to bed so early—she was fourteen years old. She loved to stay up past midnight, reading books or bad fan fiction stories or watching animations on Netflix.

Even so, I didn’t let myself be suspicious because I’d promised myself that when I turned eighteen, I would be different. I would be mature. I wouldn’t obsess over every single thing and I’d do a better job of taking care of Dad and Fi.

I promised myself that I would give them more space, too. That’s why I didn’t push Dad to give me a name earlier today and why I didn’t push Fiona to tell me why she looked sad last night, exactly when I should have. Because the video on my phone was playing on repeat and I couldn’t stop looking at it. I kept blinking the stupid tears away when they tried to hide the view from me because I needed to see more.

I needed to see those girls throwing their drinks at Fiona while she stood there at the corner of the living room at that birthday party all by herself, doing nothing. Harming no one. Minding her own damn business.

“Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!”

At least ten different kids screamed it at her—that word they screamed at me. They did it less often since I started punching people in the face for it. Everybody knew detention didn’t scare me. I’d been to Principal Mason’s office possibly as many days as I’d been in school by now.

But Fiona.

Kind, sweet, loving Fiona.

She was so positive, so full of life it rubbed off on you. Her smile was contagious, and when she saw that you weren’t feeling your best for whatever reason, she made it her mission to turn things around. She’d go to the end of the world just to see you smiling and she wouldn’t even hesitate. She was life .

How many times had she helped these kids study for exams, understand equations that made them cry, send out her notes and quizzes to the entire class? Hell, I needed help from her sometimes—she was so incredibly smart it could have been funny. She was going to make something out of herself, damn it. She was going to be great.

And this was how they treated her?

My fingers had turned white from how tightly I was holding my phone while the video continued to play. Only about eight seconds long, but to me it was never-ending.

Hello???

U there?

Better answer me woman *angry face emoji*

My friend Betty continued to text me. She’d come upon the video accidentally and she’d sent it to me, for which I was thankful. Because Fiona would have never told me about it herself. She wanted to spare me, bless her soul, because she couldn’t fathom that I no longer cared about any of it. The laughs and the calls and the middle fingers and the gestures they made when I passed by—I didn’t care, and she didn’t understand it.

Probably because it was bullshit. I did care—of course I cared, but I’d gotten good at hiding, and I now fooled myself with ease.

But she was a different story. She was pure. She was not like me and she didn’t deserve to be treated this way for something I had done.

So, I pushed off the blanket and sat up on the bed, took in a deep breath and texted Betty— up for some trouble?

She replied, I thought u’d never ask.

Yep. Bethany Rogers was my only friend in this godforsaken town, and that’s because she was even more fucked up in the head than me.

Garage in 5 , I texted back and put my phone away to get dressed.

Before you say anything—yes, I realize that they were kids. I realize that they probably didn’t know what they were doing—except they did . In this day and age, we had this wonderful thing called the Internet and everybody knew what bullying was and everybody knew that it was wrong, cruel, that people got punished for it.

And I wasn’t going to actually hurt those kids—goodness, no.

All I planned to do when I snuck out of my bedroom window four minutes later was to have some good ole fun before bed.