“Please, just tell me.”

“Why don’t you ask her?” he said, and quite loudly.

I turned to Shanice. “Has he?”

“Not really.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“No.”

“Then why’d you lie, Shanice?”

“Because Granny was looking at my hair and she kept bugging me about why and how it had come out, and when she finally asked me if George had anything to do with it, I just said yes to shut her up.”

“And that’s it?”

She just nodded.

“Then I think you owe George an apology.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Forget it,” he said.

“Shanice?”

“Sorry,” she said to the wall or the door, but it definitely wasn’t to him. “Can I go now?”

“Go,” I said. George looked like he always did: preoccupied with something else. And that was it. We’ve never talked about it since, and things seem as close to normal as we can get.

Now I’m watching Shanice swing those two hundred or so braids dangling over her shoulders like they’re hers. I let George’s niece do it a few weeks ago. You can’t see the bald spots all that much, and it seems as if she’s slowed down some on pulling it out. I never knew why she started doing it in the first place. The doctor said sometimes it means something traumatic has happened and this could be her reaction to it. I asked Shanice about that. She said the only thing that had terrified her was that earthquake we had back in January. But she’d been doing this long before then. Sometimes kids keep secrets, and if they don’t want to tell, they won’t tell. She knows I’m here for her, I’ve made that perfectly clear.

As much as Shanice tries to pretend as if she doesn’t like George, she really does. He spoils her like she were his. Buys her just about anything she wants, and she certainly knows how to ask. He doesn’t know how to say no to her, and I chide him about this all the time. For some reason, he acts like he’s indebted to her for even being here. But this is his house. Technically. My name still isn’t on the deed, but that’s just one more thing on a long list we have yet to iron out. Luckily, we’re in California, a community-property state, so I’m not all that worried about what’s mine and what’s his. Push comes to shove, I would not have to walk out of here with nothing.

George holds the door to the restaurant open for us. At twelve and three-quarters, as she puts it, Shanice is five six: almost as tall as me. I’m five nine. All the girls on Jimmy’s side of the family are lanky with narrow hips. I’m still waiting for more of the Price blood to come to the surface. Jimmy’s skin looked like red clay, but Shanice got both of our coloring and turned out deep bronze.

She walks past George clutching her book. He’s only about an inch taller than her. I’m barely speaking to him today myself, as he just announced this morning that he is not paying to send her to boarding school like he promised he would. She wants to go. As a matter of fact, she’s been begging to go, which I think is a little strange, considering she’s got all the comforts a girl could ask for at home. Her room is full of everything, which is probably why she rarely comes out of it.