I shut the door behind me, put my stuff away, and wander into the kitchen. Baba is cooking something, and it smells great. I glance inside the pan and see he’s making tehari.

“When is it going to be ready?” I ask, moving around him to open the fridge, pulling out a cold water bottle.

“Oh, you’re speaking to me now?” Baba asks, and my hand tightens around the bottle. “It’s a modern-day miracle. God must have been looking out for me today.”

I take a deep breath and slowly unclench my fingers. “When is it going to be ready?” I repeat.

“When it’s ready,” Baba says, reaching for a can of salt. “Isn’t it annoying when the person you’re talking to refuses to give you a straight answer?”

“You’re supposed to be the adult,” I remind him coldly. Every word that comes out of my parents’ mouths is so passive-aggressive, and it makes me want to scream. “But if you want to act like a child, fine. Leave me out of it.”

I grab a carton of ice cream and leave the kitchen. I try not to think about all the times in the past when I’ve asked Baba what he was cooking and instead of telling me, he showed me, walking me through all the steps with a patience that I haven’t seen in years.

But then comes the memory of the time I told Baba he should become a chef and open his own restaurant, and he looked at me as if I were insane for suggesting such a thing. Even his own happiness isn’t a priority—why did I ever think mine would be?

Sometimes, between facing off against my parents and protecting Anam, it feels like I had to grow up too fast to survive in this house.

I wonder what it’s like to be a normal teenager. One with a loving household, filled with laughter and affection and warmth.

My heart sinks in my chest as I realize that’s a luxury I’ll never experience. This house is my own personal nightmare, and every day is somehow worse than the last.

But can you leave? asks the voice in my head.

I don’t know if there was ever any other choice.

44

Monday morning, I receive a text from Emmitt before I even arrive to school.

EMMITT RAMOS: the prompt is HOME

I don’t respond immediately, busy catching the subway, but my mind starts whirring at the possibilities. Home is such a broad word, and there’s a million things that could fit the prompt.

I’m still musing on it when I walk into the cafeteria, swiping my student ID card. I’m so lost in my thoughts that it comes as a surprise when Rosie stops me in the hallway, just as I’m about to approach my locker.