Scrolling aimlessly through Myspace, I slip a cookie from my Oreo stash and pop the whole thing in my mouth. I didn't bother turning on the light before getting comfortable in bed, so my laptop screen is blinding. Vendetta is in here somewhere, but her black fur makes it impossible to tell where. I can only hope she's not drinking from my milk cup on the floor.

I like posts at random, unengaged until I pass a picture of a familiar blonde. It's from earlier today, about two hours ago, taken on the soccer field. Carter smiles for the camera, but it's not reaching his eyes. Wrapped around his waist is Tori Whitfield, her dark skin a contrast to the light blue cheer uniform she's wearing. I stab my thumb on the screen and mock rubbing her face away. It's still there when I pull my hand back.

"Are you listening to me? Why do I feel like you totally aren't."

Chloe's voice crackles through the receiver sandwiched between my ear and shoulder. If I'm honest, I forgot we were on the phone.

"Guilty. I got distracted by your valiant captain's latest post. Third one in the last hour."

"Typical," Chloe interrupts, followed by shuffling that suggests she's readjusting. I can imagine her sprawled out across her comforter, twirling the cord of her personal landline. "Tori will do anything for attention. I get headaches before practice even starts, and her constant bitching definitely doesn't help."

"Well, no one told you to join cheerleading. In fact, I remember being vocally against it freshman year."

"And sacrifice the chances I get to one-up her? Never. Besides, I didn't spend eleven years in gymnastics to let my hard work go to waste. Getting on Tori's nerves is just a bonus."

"Well, you could always drop her during one of the lifts. I'm sure the school would thank you." I reach for another cookie, but my fingers come up empty. Good to know my high is still going strong.

Chloe snorts. "The thought has crossed my mind, but who would I mess with if she was gone?"

Inadvertently, I glance at my window directly across from Carter's. The blinds are open, a sign that Mom was in here again, so I can see he's not in his room. It makes it hard for me to ignore thoughts of that shower he was eager to get to. I'm grateful Chloe and I didn't Skype tonight. The last thing I need is her calling me out.

"Speaking of practice, you'll never believe what Jessa told me during today."

Vendetta slinks out from the darkness, her yellow eyes the only sign she's there. Her fur tickles my nose as she curls against my chest, purring loudly. I scratch behind her ears before switching the home phone to speaker.

"Do I get three guesses?"

"Your guesses would be unrealistic, so I'm just gonna tell you to save us both time." She has a point, so I let her continue. "There's a party Saturday night."

"Snore." Nonetheless, I snap my laptop closed and give her my full attention. "Since when is that breaking news? We both know they're more your scene, anyway."

The girls from the squad drag Chloe out to the football parties sometimes, and even though she makes a big show about not wanting to go, deep down, I know she has fun.

"You may be right about that." Her tone lets me know I'm not. "But it's Darren Wexler's party."

I almost drop the phone. "You're lying."

"Confirmed it with three other girls on the squad. I even swallowed my pride and asked Tori. It's happening. He's throwing another one."

"Holy shit." I sit up straighter against my bed frame in shock. "But he hasn't thrown one in years."

"Not since his rager sophomore year. It's a miracle anyone survived that night. I didn't think he'd get permission again after the lacrosse guys drove his dad's golf cart into the pool."

"Never underestimate the power of a privileged white boy."

"Amen, sister." The line goes fuzzy again before Chloe adds, "But you're still in, right?"

I hesitate. "Depends. Have you asked Mark yet?"

"Texted him like, ten minutes before I called you, but still no reply. Getting a hold of that boy is impossible these days. Do you think he's cheating on us?"

"He's at the diner. Another late shift."

"Jesus, how many late shifts do they need covered? I feel like he's been working them all summer."

"They must just be short-staffed or something," I say shortly, tugging at a loose thread on my comforter. Mark's reasons for picking up extra shifts are his business and not something for me to share with Chloe. I love her, but money struggles aren't something I think she'd understand.

"Well, I'm gonna send him a reminder to drink coffee tomorrow. Last thing we need is him falling asleep at the wheel. I know I'll be drinking two cups before I come get you. I'm gonna need it to survive the first day — wait, is me driving you still happening?"

"Technically, that's still up in the air. I'm planning on bringing it up at dinner." Just saying it makes my adrenaline skyrocket. "But I'm not asking this time, I'm telling. You're driving me tomorrow, end of story."

"Well, I'll be out front ready for a quick getaway in the morning, just in case she does say no."

I attempt a laugh. "That's probably for the best."

We talk for a few minutes longer before I hear movement downstairs, accompanied by the smell of Chili's take out. Chloe wishes me a last good luck before we hang up. Not a minute later, Benjamin sticks his head into the room.

"Commander Stinkbreath, Mother requests your presence at the dinner table and insists you not make her come get you."

"What's her status, Captain Buttsworth?" I ask, twisting around to sit on the edge of my bed.

He leans against my door frame. "Tired and irritable, Commander."

"No change from yesterday, then. Or the day before that."

"Or the day before that," Ben chimes in, giving me an easy smile. His two front teeth are too big for his mouth, making his smile the most prominent feature on his face.

I catch a whiff of lingering smoke coming from my shirt and make a judgment call. Stepping into my closet so he can't see me, I shrug out of the baby doll tee and pull on a soft flannel.

Once I'm back in view, Ben studies me with a critical eye, lingering specifically on my face. "You need the eyedrops," stepping closer, he sniffs, "and I can still smell the smoke on your hair."

"Damn it." I trudge over to my dresser for the drops. "Do me a favor and stall, will ya? And try to throw that Oreo container away without her seeing."

Through my mirror, I watch Ben grab the package and throw me a parting salute. "See you down there, Commander."

Two minutes later, I stroll into the dining room with clear eyes and hair smelling fresh as a daisy.

Dad's already seated and reading this morning's newspaper. He likes to leave the back half for the end of the day, specifically the daily crossword. I plop down next to him and lean over his shoulder. "Have you started it yet?"

"No point," he replies gruffly, eyes studying the page. "Your mother's almost ready to eat. Might as well wait till after dinner to start the fun."

There are already a few take out boxes spread around the table, and Ben set the placemats before I got down here. He sits hunched over in his soccer jersey, thumbs flying across the buttons of his PSP.

"He clearly didn't get the memo," I point out.

"He never does." A faint smile tugs at Dad's lips, a rare occurrence from him. He must be having a good day today.

It slides off his face at the sound of heels making their way down the hall. Mom's a flurry as she strides into the dining room carrying a container of pasta. In one swift motion, she plops the plate down on the table and snatches the game from Ben's hands.

"Why must I tell you every night not to play this at the table?" she scolds, tossing it onto a nearby countertop.

There's that tired and irritable.

Her hair is still natural, suggesting she didn't find time to get to the salon today. She's swept it up into a thick bun, not a single strand out of place. The bags under her eyes seem deeper than usual, making her appear older than she really is. It's probably a new project that has her working late at the office. If I didn't know her better, I might feel sympathetic.

Unfortunately, I know her.

Ben leans his elbows on the table, then hangs his head in his hands, sulking. Mom's only choice is to sit across from me, but she keeps her attention locked on my brother.

"You're pushing your luck tonight and I'm not in the mood. Elbows off."

I can tell Ben wants to push her further, but when he catches my eye, I discreetly shake my head. It's not in defense of Mom; I just really need her in the mood to deal with me. Ben sucks his teeth but sits up straight.

Once Dad's sure the two of them are done, he leads us in grace, then reaches for the nearest container. We all move wordlessly over the food, the only sound the scraping of forks and pouring of juice. Then, it's uncomfortably quiet, everyone focused on their own plates. A standard family meal in the Blake household.

My fork slips from my hand more than once. Mom is totally oblivious of the war waging in my head as I contemplate the best way to broach the topic. She splits her attention between picking at her food and answering emails on her Blackberry. No one makes a comment about the electronics rule — that one doesn't apply to her.

Thankfully, Dad gives me the in I need. "So, tomorrow is a pretty big day, huh? Ben's last year of middle school and Amber's finally a senior. Any plans to start the year off right?"

Ben gobbles down two spoonfuls of pasta before answering. "Well, I'm going out for team captain this year. I've waited three years for the title, plus I'm better than most of the guys on the field."

"And the most humble, I'm sure," I add.

"Obviously." He shoots me another wide smile.

"Well, I plan on beating teen pregnancy for the eighth year in a row. It's been hard with suitors waiting around every corner to impregnate me, but I'm confident in my abilities to keep them at bay." I shoot Dad a dazzling smile of my own. Unsurprisingly, he doesn't return it.

"Who's pregnant?" The word pulls Mom back into the conversation.

"Ben is," I answer without thinking.

He cracks up at the idea — gotta love an easy audience. Unfortunately, Mom isn't so easy. She rolls her eyes before going back to her phone, muttering under her breath, "Must everything be a joke?"

Don't take the bait, I chant in my head, breathing deeply to level out my temper. "Speaking of tomorrow, I wanted to talk to you guys about something..."

Mom doesn't look up. "Mmm?"

It sounds distracted, but that could work to my advantage. If she's not listening, she might just nod until I shut up. "Chloe's gonna drive me to school tomorrow."

Besides a slight frown, Mom barely reacts. "Julia already called. Carter's driving you." She states it as a fact, leaving no room for discussion. I find the room anyway.

"No, he's not. Chloe is."

The sounds of eating stop all at once. Ben's mouth hangs open, exposing bits of unchewed food. Dad glances nervously between her and me.

Mom looks up from her screen and pins me with hard eyes. "Excuse me?"

It's my chance to backpedal and go back to eating my food. She waits patiently for me to take that route; as usual, I disappoint her. "Chloe already said she can, and she promised she'd be on time, early even—"

"Did you hear what I said?" she asks too calmly. "I already spoke to Julia. He'll be outside at 7:30. It's not up for debate."

"But why?" I try to keep the whine out of my voice, but based on the way she clenches her jaw, it doesn't work. "It's my senior year, I should get to decide who I start it off with. What does it matter who drives me as long as it isn't you?"

"Has she even passed her drivers test, Amber? Last I heard, she had failed for the third time." She's deflecting now; the last thing she cares about is the safety of my ride, otherwise, she wouldn't let me within feet of Carter's truck. What this really comes down to is one thing — her need to control me.

"She passed last month," I grit through my teeth.

"A month with a license isn't long enough. She's not taking you."

"So then Mark will." I'm getting desperate now, my voice rising several octaves more than I mean it to. "He's had his license for almost two years, plus he's close by!"

Mom slams her fork down, and I know I've lost. Any chance of this going smoothly has just left the building.

"Emily," my dad tries, but she doesn't hear him; the damage has already been done.

"Must everything be an argument?" she starts, her words clipped. "Why can't you ever just do what I say? It seems no matter what, there's always a problem. Julia is nice enough to offer that Carter drives you despite your ungratefulness, and now you want me to call her up and cancel for no reason. Please tell me why I should do that."

"Because I don't want him to drive me!" I shout, leaning over the table. "That's it! I don't want to spend a fifteen minute car ride with Carter, tomorrow or any other day. Why is that so hard for you to get?"

The phone in the living room rings, cutting through the tension. I'm expecting Mom to jump up, always eager for an excuse to get away from me, but she stays seated.

"Benjamin, get the phone please."

He doesn't move right away, his attention still on me. "But—"

I pinch him under the table and shake my head again. I don't want him in her line of fire now that she's past the point of no return. We both know Mom isn't done with me yet.

Sighing, Ben bounds from the table to catch the phone.

She doesn't hesitate once he's gone. "Is this about the shit that happened with Carter as kids?"

It's like a slap to the face. I can brush off her insults and harsh criticisms, but not any comments about that. It's off limits, and she knows it.

My stunned silence is answer enough. She scoffs, wipes her mouth, then chucks her napkin into her plate. "For God's sake, Amber, when are you gonna grow up and realize not everything is a big deal? Holding a grudge over Carter not talking to you for a few years is childish, and it's about time you moved on. It's always about the dramatics with you, and quite frankly, I'm done coddling them. I mean really, do you have to be just like—"

"Emily." Dad says it sharper this time, catching her off guard.

"Stay out of this, Daniel," she shoots back, her anger transferring to him. "There's plenty I could say about you right now that I don't think you want her hearing."

Dad seems ready to come back at her, but then he looks at me. I don't know what in my face tells him to stop, but he does. Snapping his mouth closed, he refocuses on his meal; whatever momentarily motivated him to defend me vanishes. I'm on my own again.

Then, Ben pokes his head back in.

"It's for you," he says, holding the phone out to Mom. "Some lady named Callie. Says it's important."

The energy in the room shifts instantly. Dad's eyes are back on Mom, but instead of anger, they're filled with fear. Ben searches between the three of us, trying to gauge what he missed while he was gone, but this is about whoever's on the other end of that call; I can tell by the way Mom peers at the phone like it's a ticking time bomb, about to go off.

"Mom—"

"Get upstairs," her head whips back around to me, "both of you."

"I haven't finished my food yet," Ben complains, moving to sit back down.

"I said get upstairs," she screams, snatching the receiver from his hands.

He scrambles away from the room, but something makes me stand my ground. If I had to guess, pure stupidity.

"What about tomorrow?"

When her eyes slide away from the phone and find mine, my blood freezes into ice. Instead of the usual tired and irritable, they're filled with pure disdain.

"A guy in a blacked-out van can drive you for all I care," she spits. "Just get out of my sight."

It shouldn't hurt after years of being her punching bag, but a lump forms in my throat anyway. I wait to see if Dad will say anything, but he treats me like I'm not there at all. I push back from the table and storm from the room without a word. Mom's side of the call follows me out, her shouts carrying all the way up the stairs.

"How dare you call us on the house phone this late. I know what you're trying to do and it's not going to work, do you hear me? I will not let you destroy my life again..."

The rest fades to muted noise when I slam my door behind me. Leaning against it, I inhale sharply to hold back angry tears. She doesn't deserve them, I think to myself between breaths.

It's what he always said when I had nights like this.

As if thinking him into existence, Carter's bedroom light flickers on. I hold my breath as he meanders around his room, throwing stuff here and there. He finally settles into his desk chair, but instead of wheeling it out of sight, he pulls up to his window and rests his chin on the sill.

Before I know it, my feet are moving. They don't stop until I'm just short of touching the pane. My lights are still off, so he can't make out my features, but his face changes when he spots my silhouette. With blood rushing in my ears, I stand there, stuck, unsure of what to do next.

It feels painfully familiar, the two of us like this. My fingers dance lightly over the window latch, toying with the idea of opening it. Even though he's the reason Mom and I fought in the first place, I'm struck with a sadness that's never too far away. It's the feeling I suppress every time I see his face. It's the part of me that still misses him, even now.

"Is this about the shit that happened with Carter as kids?"

I snap my blinds shut just as he reaches for his window.

Because it is about what happened when we were kids— childish or not.