As soon as the prayers were over, I wove my way through the crowd outside the door to Yulia. I snagged her elbow, ignoring the woman she was excitedly in conversation with.

“Yulia, I want to go home now.”

“Em?” Yulia blinked down at me. “Honey, there’s a lecture we’re staying for, remember? What happened to your friends?”

She tried to turn her back, but I wasn’t having it. I yanked at her arm again.

“I mean it. I want to go home.”

“Em . . .”

“Now. Right now.”

Yulia smiled tightly at the woman she was speaking to. “I’m sorry. Can you give us a minute?”

“Oh, oh, sure!”

As soon as she moved away, Yulia turned on me. “Why are you being this way, Em? Did someone say something to you?”

“Did anyone have to say anything?” I snapped back. “I’m not comfortable here. I want to go back to my own house and my own bed.”

Yulia’s lips thinned. “Please don’t tell me you’re throwing a tantrum right now. Is this how you’re supposed to be with your mom?”

“Seriously?” I snapped. “Is this how any of this is supposed to be? Do I look like I want to be here? And am I always supposed to be the person who makes it easy for you?”

My voice rose several octaves. A few heads turned. I could see Sabrena, brows furrowed and eyes concerned.

Yulia looked panicked. “Em . . .”

“I’m sick of this place and I’m sick of these people. I’m sick of you trying so hard for them, when you can hardly try at all for me.” My fingers dug into my palm. I wished spewing this out would feel better, satisfying, wipe away the sense that the woman from earlier was looking from afar and nodding decisively as I confirmed her judgment of me—and why shouldn’t she? I didn’t belong here. I never belonged here. I was fooling myself.

“Why am I always the one who has to compromise for you? Aren’t you bored yet? Shouldn’t you be ready to move on?”

“Em!” Yulia’s voice snapped in two, and she cleared her throat.

“Aren’t you tired of pretending that you feel full?” I shrieked. “Because it’s not going to work, Yulia. It never works. You just get bored and you move on. It doesn’t matter how I feel about it. What matters is you taking a bite and then spitting it out, the way you always do. And I’m tired of it!”

Yulia took a step back, crossing her arms over her chest. No, that was wrong. She folded them there, as though she was trying to hold herself together. If it were any other time, I’d feel terrible for making her do that. Now, though, I was trying hard to breathe. And keep my lunch down.