"I wish we cud stay here but that means I have to trust rory blanca and seth. thats 3 people. 1 of them will snitch or call CPS. it felt so good to sleep this morning and not worry about shit. i cant believe rory trust me enough to leave me in her room all day. maybe i should just snatch some stuff and go but i dont think i can steel from rory. not now."

I put my notebook back in my bag and force myself to get up. I've slept too long. Despite Rory's advice to take it easy, I can't seem to let myself relax. I've been in survival mode for so long, it's the only thing I know how to do.

Downstairs, Pixie is still fast asleep in front of the TV, thumb in her mouth, her other arm dangling off the couch. I gently pick it up and put it beside her and then cover her with a blue and white knit blanket that's hanging over the back of the couch. I touch her forehead. Even without the thermometer, I can feel that she's cooler. Maybe the fever will break today.

"Well good morning. Again," says a voice from behind me.

I whirl around to see Blanca standing at the edge of the kitchen, which opens right onto the living room. She's leaning against the granite countertop and smiling at me.

"Hi," I say nervously.

"Come sit at the table. Let's talk," she says, motioning for me to follow her.

I reluctantly leave Pixie and sit down across from Blanca at the kitchen table. There's a bay window streaming sunlight across the surface, and through it I can see a screened-in pool and hot tub outside.

"Where are your parents?" Blanca asks.

"It's a long story," I say, folding my hands on the table and staring at them.

"Well I need to hear it, young man. I've had CPS in my phone all day, and all I need to do is press the call button. So it's better if you just start talking," she says.

My stomach flip-flops with dread and nerves at the thought. As much as I don't want to tell a stranger about our situation, it looks like I don't have a choice. This is what I get for trusting Rory and thinking with my dick.

"Our mom is a meth addict. She's not looking for us, believe me. I don't know my real dad, but Pixie's dad is this guy named Ray, my mom's boyfriend. I had to get Pixie away from him," I say.

"Why?" Blanca asks.

"Because he's evil," I say. I look up at her coldly as I say this, daring her to ask more. She doesn't.

"I've worked for this family since Rory was born. I don't like keeping secrets from Mr. Walsh. Especially something like this."

"We're leaving tonight."

"That's not what Rory thinks. She wants you to stay here for good."

This is news to me. Does Rory really want us here? The thought makes me warm, but I shove it out of my head before I can get too excited. There's no one I can trust a hundred percent, not even Rory.

"I can't do that," I say, "I need to stay hidden. Pixie too."

"You're hiding something," Blanca says.

"Why do you say that?" I ask nervously.

"Because there's no good reason for you to turn down that offer. Food, a bed, a nice house, all for free? You're just scared I'll blab to the authorities aren't you?"

"We can't go home. Pixie can't go home. It would be better for us to die than to go home," I mumble.

"What if I agreed to keep your secret? Would you stay then?" Blanca asks.

"I don't know," I shrug, "Probably not."

"What are your plans for the future?" she asks.

"Save enough money for our own place. When I'm eighteen, I'm gonna adopt Pixie."

When I say the words out loud, they sound stupid... just a pipe dream. I expect Blanca to dismiss them or come up with reasons why it'll never happen. But she doesn't.

"What about school?" Blanca asks.

"What about it?"

"In order to pay your bills and live in a decent place, you have to have a high school diploma. Without one, there are no decent jobs. Believe me. How were your grades last year?"

I think back to school last year. I spent most of my time working on the farm, planning our escape, visiting Pixie, and self-medicating with drugs and alcohol to block out what I knew was happening to her.

"I'm not good at school," I say.

"Why do you think that?"

I shrug, feeling uncomfortable. "I'm just stupid. I can barely read and write. I guess I'm okay at math, but everything else requires reading and writing."

Blanca's eyes soften. "You're not stupid."

I laugh dryly. "I'm definitely stupid. It's all good, you don't have to pretend I'm not. I know I am. It's not like it hurts my feelings."

"Who told you that?"

I can feel myself getting hot and itchy under my clothing. The sunlight, which had felt soft just minutes ago, is now making me sweat. I want to get out of this conversation. I'm starting to hear Ray's voice in my head:

"You're so fucking stupid, Austin! I can't think of one person I know who's stupider than you are!"

He'd stolen my homework off the rickety kitchen table in the motel room. He loved humiliating me.

"What the hell is this supposed to even say? I can't believe you're in the third grade. I guess they've started letting retards move up in school." He laughed.

I waited patiently for him to give back my writing assignment. I kept my eyes down. I didn't dare cry. Stone faced. By then I had perfected it. His words pinged off my thick armor. I had heard them so many times by then, they didn't hurt me anymore. I didn't need to be smart to survive, and survival was all that mattered.

"What? You're not gonna defend yourself?" Ray asked, whacking me over the head with my pencil.

I didn't even flinch. I just shook my head, eyes on the table. I was not allowed to look him in the eye or he would hit me. I was not allowed to look clients in the eye either. I was not worthy of looking up, because slaves do not look up. I always knew when he brought girls around who were for sale, because they never looked up either. That is the first thing you learn when you are for sale, and everybody learns it the same way: the hard way.

"Huh?" Ray said again, his voice rising as he snapped the pencil against my forehead again.

"No," I whispered.

"Why?"

"Because I'm stupid."

"Lay off him, Ray," Mom said from the bed.

I stole a glance up at her. Mom's eyes were hollow, and her face and arms were covered with scabs from where she scratched herself, trying to escape the invisible meth bugs that tormented her day and night. She was watching TV, painting her nails, her stringy blond hair falling in front of her face. It was one of the few times she came to my defense. But she didn't look Ray in the eye either. He wouldn't let her, even though she meant more to him than the other girls, even though he said he loved her.

Ray glared at her over his shoulder. "What was that?"

Mom rolled her eyes. "Fuck off, Ray. He's got problems. You know that. Some kids have problems! It ain't his fault!"

"His biggest problem is he came from you," Ray said, throwing my homework back at me.

Mom dared to look Ray right in the eyes, and I knew she knew what was going to happen and was ballsy enough to do it anyway, and in that short moment I couldn't help but admire her.

Ray walked over to Mom and, without so much as a pause, smacked her across the face with the back of his hand. Pink nail polish went flying across the bedspread. When she raised her head with a bloody lip, I could tell she was proud of herself, and I was too. She had this defiant smirk on her face.

"How fucking dare you," Ray whispered calmly.

The whispering was much scarier than if he'd yelled at her. He whispered when he killed people.

Ray grabbed her hair and slammed her head against the wall. She pried at his fingers, trying to get free. I was frozen in place, just watching. I had seen this so many times. I didn't even imagine trying to help her anymore. I was just glad it wasn't me this time. It was survival of the fittest in our house. Just stay alive even if it meant someone else had to get hurt. I knew she had taken this for me, and next time I would take it for her. That's how it worked. That's how we said I love you.

"Obviously you need to be reminded of your place, Nikki," Ray said, and he pushed her onto her stomach.

I slipped out the door when he started pulling off her jeans, unzipping his pants. Outside, the night was warm and soft. I leaned against the closed door, hearing her muffled cries. Then I walked over to the railing and looked down into the parking lot. No one was around. There were two cars parked below our room. I wondered if the height was big enough to kill me if I jumped. It wasn't the first time I thought about dying. I always kinda hoped Ray would kill me by accident. I always kinda wished I wouldn't wake up.

I shake the memory out of my head and look up at Blanca. "I'm not going to get through school. I've dropped out," I say.

"You can go back," she says gently.

"No," I say, "It's just not for me."

She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You know, I was a dropout too. Right now I'm working on getting my diploma. Trust me, you don't want that life. It's impossible to get a good job. I know, I know, you think I got it good here, and I do. The Walsh's treat me like family, but when it comes down to it, I'm their maid. Just a maid. I don't live here. I live in a tiny little duplex across town in the ghetto. This isn't my life. My husband isn't here legally and I know how it is to have to hide," she says. "So I could help you."

I look up at her, wondering what ulterior motive she has for offering to help me.

"I don't know," I say.

"Think about it," she says.

------------

When Seth comes home that afternoon, I've already got our stuff packed. I can't stay here. I can't take the risk. Getting involved with Rory at all was a mistake. Now I've got three people in Dallas who know about us, three people who could potentially destroy everything with just one phone call. Rory's become a comforting distraction, but I have to let her go.

So far, I haven't said anything to Seth because we haven't crossed paths, but when I go downstairs to wake Pixie, he's sitting there watching TV. He looks up when he hears my footsteps. The kid doesn't resemble Rory very much, other than his blue eyes. He's got dark hair and a face that makes him look much younger than he really is. He looks away from me really quick.

"Hey," I say.

Seth nods. "Hi."

"You're Rory's brother, right?" I ask.

Seth nods, looking back at the TV. "Yep."

I glance at Pixie, who's still asleep under the blanket. No point waking her right now, so I sit down next to Seth.

"Rory told you about me?" Seth asks me after a few quiet minutes.

I nod. Seth is guarded. I can tell by the way he shifts his eyes to the exits when he talks, unconsciously mapping escape routes. It's the same tactic I use when I'm around someone I don't trust. He's tense too, ready to run or fight. He's like a younger version of me.

"I'm sure she told you what an asshole I am," he says darkly.

"No. She didn't," I say.

Seth shrugs. "So are you really homeless?" he asks.

"For now," I say, "Until I can get us our own place."

"How do you survive out there?" he asks curiously.

"Why? Thinking of running off?" I ask.

Seth shrugs. "It's not like I haven't before."

"Well from what Rory's told me, I think you're pretty good at surviving. How long did you wander around the desert anyway?"

Seth shakes his head, his eyes far away and heavy with some darkness. "I don't remember," he mumbles.

"Yeah, she told me that. You really don't remember anything from those three years?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Nope. Not a thing."

I don't know how I know. Maybe it's because I've spent so much of my own life lying, but I can feel it: he's not telling me the truth. He remembers.

-----------

I've already told Pixie we're leaving when I hear Rory's car pull up in the driveway. I'm just waiting around to say a quick goodbye and thank her for everything she's done for us.

"Hey," she says when she walks in the door. Her hair is slick with sweat and she looks completely exhausted but still beautiful.

"You okay?" I ask.

"I always look like this after rehearsal. I know, it's scary," she smiles.

She sinks onto the stairs and kicks off her shoes.  Her feet look like they've been through hell, all blistered, bruised and red.  It makes me hurt just looking at them. I don't know why anyone would want to do that to themselves just to dance pretty on stage for a few minutes.

"I just wanted to stay long enough to say goodbye and thank you for everything. We're already packed," I say, watching as she winces and rubs one foot.

"And where are you going?" she asks.

She starts taking bobby pins out of her hair bun, finally shaking it loose so it falls around her shoulders in damp, sunset colored waves. Why does everything she does drive me insane? I try not to look like I'm staring, so I lean down to pet Mandy, who just nuzzled my leg.

"Why do you care?"

Rory looks surprised. "Um... Because of Pixie."

"I take care of her. Not you," I say, and I know I probably sound defensive, but the skeptical look on her face pisses me off. Apparently, I've pissed her off too. Her blue-gray eyes flash with anger.

"Oh really? She's five and you almost let her die of Strep Throat! I know you say you have your reasons for not getting her to a doctor," Rory says, making air quotations around the word 'reasons', "But I don't care. Someone has to look out for her."

"Don't pretend you know better than I do how to take care of my sister," I say darkly.

When Rory speaks again, her voice is softer. "I'm not, Austin. But whether you like it or not, I'm involved now. I care about both of you. You know you're in no condition to be out on your own again."

"I can take care of us," I say quietly.

"Your pride is gonna get you both killed. Pride and stupidity," she says coldly, and then she gets up and walks away from me.

I know Rory's still mad when we leave ten minutes later. She gives Pixie a hug but doesn't even look at me.

"Thanks for everything," I mumble.

At that, her eyes finally meet mine.

"Will you keep coming by the store?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say.

"Okay. Guess this is goodbye then. Good luck," she shrugs.

"Rory?" I say just as we're turning to leave.

"What?" she asks curiously.

I hesitate.

I have to tell her.

"Your brother's lying. He remembers."