“Thanks,” I say. We look around and notice that everyone has left. “I think we missed the actors.”

“Who cares,” Elijah sings. “We had this little heart-to-heart—that’s much better. I’ll walk you to the subway.”

I hate to ask, but I need to ask. “Could you not tell anyone?”

He pauses. “Of course.”

Fast-forward an hour and thirty minutes later, I run all the way home from the subway stop, carefully turn the key, and quietly open the door. My aunt switches on the lamp beside the couch. “You’re late,” she says in an ominous voice.

“I’m sorry. The subway stopped—”

“You can’t walk all over me, August. I gave you one rule and that’s to be home on time,” she slurs.

I put my hands up—she just needs to hear me—and say, “It was the subway—”

“August.” Her hands are shaking. “You have to plan for those subways. This is the second time. What would your mom do?”

“Nothing,” I lie.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she asks, then stands up, knocking a wine bottle off the coffee table. “Oh, shit.”

I pick up the bottle. “It’s empty,” I say, to reassure her.

“Yeah, because I was waiting for you.”

“I’m sorry, Auntie. It won’t happen again.”

“I’ve never been a parent. It’s awful when your kid doesn’t listen. You had me sitting here for an hour feeling bad about my entire childhood. Now go to your room,” she says, wobbling in the darkness. I want to help her to her room, but she’s not happy with me.

I head upstairs, wondering why she’s so upset. And why she mentioned my mom—that’s not like her. None of this is like her.

Fourteen

Fourteen

Sunday, October 13

8:33 A.M.

Today is officially hell day. Also known as “10 out of 12” because we’re at the theater for twelve hours but only allowed to work ten of those hours. I’m feeling hopeful. I chew my cereal as softly as possible to not wake my aunt. She’s usually up by now, but wine happened. She typically has a few glasses and goes to bed. But recently, she’s been drinking more.

I set my bowl in the sink. I have an hour and twenty-seven minutes to get to school. Maybe even time to stop at Starbucks and stock up on caffeine for the long day ahead. The subway is on a Sunday schedule, but I planned for it. After last night, I’ll never be late again.

“August,” Aunt Lil moans, wearing a tattered yellow robe. “I’m hungover and I blame you.”

I put my backpack on. “I accept all blame,” I say with a smile.

“My head is split in two.”

I clear my throat. “Last night, you asked what Mom would do.”

“I did?”

“You don’t remember?”

She shrugs.