Page 7 of Pretty Broken Wings

Oh, this’ll be fun.

CHAPTER FOUR

8 Years Old

“Siloh, please be quiet; we’re getting to the good part.” I shoot Siloh a look. She’s my stuffed cat, and she’s always causing problems. All of my stuffed animals are lined up in a semicircle around me as I read, and Siloh is tipped over. Again.

I sigh, fixing her as I get back to my book. We’re just getting to the part where the girl jumps on the back of the bad guy andhits him until he runs away. Onyx, my dog, is quiet in my arms. She’s such a good dog.

I wish she were real. I’d take care of her if she were real. I got every book on dogs that the library had. I’d be her best friend. I am her best friend, but I’d be herrealbest friend.

Suddenly, the garage door grinds. For a second, I just stare at my book, then I realize what that means.

Dad’s home.

I dart to my feet. He’s back, and I forgot to take the chicken out of the freezer.

I race to the kitchen, turn on the hot water, and shove the pack of chicken thighs under it. Dad asked me to do this a few times before he left, but I got distracted with my book. It was a book my old friend Kimmy gave me before my dad said I couldn’t go to the homeschool group anymore.

I should have remembered to take the chicken out. Mom leaves every week for her Bunco game, and every week, I’m in charge of dinner.

I hiss as I test the water, which is now hot, and I put the chicken under the stream. Dad is going to be so mad, which makes me want to both run and punch something at the same time, but instead of doing that, I freeze.

It’s never good when Dad’s mad.

Poking the chicken, I feel how frozen it still is when Dad’s steps sound right outside the door. I turn, darting to the living room and sitting on the couch. At the last minute, I realize that I left the water on. But there’s no time.

Dad comes in, carrying his lunch bag and coat. His cheeks are pink, and immediately, I know he’s happy. His cheeks are always pink when he’s happy.

Dad just dumps his stuff, moving to the bathroom.

As soon as the bathroom door shuts, I feel an odd pause. Did he… forget? Sometimes Dad forgets when he’s drinking his adultcoffee. He says it makes him want to throw himself off a bridge less, and he needs it every day. But I don’t like it. He’s not as nice when he’s drinking it, even though he says it helps.

Darting up, I turn off the water and hesitate, unsure where to put the chicken. I can’t put it back in the freezer, or he’ll really know. Or will he know if I leave it out?

I hear the toilet flush, and I dart past the bathroom to the stairs. Maybe if Dad doesn’t see me, he won’t remember.

I’m in the safety of my room for what feels like forever before I hear a bang and Dad says a bad word. Immediately, my whole body locks up.

I hope he doesn’t come up here. Please don’t come up here…

I hear the sound of him moving around, listening for the creak that the wood floor makes right by the bottom of the stairs.

Then, I hear it. The creak, and then the loud stomping and muttering.

I dart to my feet, unsure what to do or where to go. I feel stuck. Frozen.

Dad barges into my room, making the door slam into the wall and bounce back again, hitting him. Dad’s face is red. “You can’t do one thing?” The way he’s looking at me, I know he’s not all the way happy. His eyes don’t look like marbles, and he still looks tired.

I wish he were all the way happy.

But I’m a brave girl. I messed up.

I straighten, looking him in the eye. “I forgot.”

Dad blinks at me, then his fists clench, and he moves a step closer. “So you’re just disobeying, yeah?”

He looks so big, and some of my courage goes away. I’m angry and scared, and I don’t know what to do. I want to run, but I can’t make myself. “Sorry, I was reading and?—”