I look down at my combat boots. “What if there’s an emergency, though?”

Hilary laughs. “Whatever it is, it can wait a few days.”

“Yeah,” I say, remembering how my dad was slouched on the bathroom floor. He could have been there for hours if I hadn’t been home. “Totally.”

“All right, seniors!” Mr. Garcia says, raising his voice to be heard over the chatter that’s started, people standing up and collecting their things, eager to get out of school even thirty-nine seconds early. “Our next big class activity is the Breast Cancer Polar Plunge this weekend. In the meantime, have a good week!”

“Shit, that’s this weekend?” I groan.

“You were the one who practically tackled me at lunch to vote for it.” Abigail laughs. I grunt in response.

“Should we all wear bikinis?” Hilary asks as we file out.

“Ass-naked is the call,” I say, decidedly not mentioning that I’ll be at the Brain Degeneration Walk, hiding out in a porta-potty. I’m sure Bad Daughters burn in hell, but I’ll be all right. Any burn I get turns into a tan eventually.

Dear Universe,

I want all of this to be over.

I want Gene and Helga to elope someplace special, like hell.

I want a root beer float.

I want new soles for my combat boots.

I want an umbrella instead of a trash bag.

I want directions to my life.

I want Band-Aids.

I want six ways to be a better daughter.

I want someone to name a constellation after me and take me there to flourish amongst my stars.

We’re almost out of the auditorium when I hear my name. “Hey, Cham,” Brendan calls from a few rows over. He waves to me, and I override my feelings of self-consciousness. Kind of.

“Don’t know what this is about, but see you guys later,” I say to Abigail and Hilary, then cut across the line of people milling out the door.

“Uh, okay, bye,” Abigail says.

I step out of the auditorium and into the bright hallway, waiting for Brendan by the windows to the courtyard.

“What’s up?” I ask when he approaches me.

“Just wanted to see how you’re holding up.” Someone passes and I think I hear them say Tater Tots. My ears get red hot. “That’s why I ignore them,” Brendan says, smiling a little with his dark brown eyes. “People suck.”

“They really do.” A few girls Abigail is friends with on the dance team walk out of the auditorium. They’re talking about prom and how far the beach is from the town we’re staying in in Nicaragua.

“It should just be called Senior Vacation,” Brendan mutters. I nod. “Mr. Garcia just told me I can’t go if I don’t pass in my English essay,” I blurt out.

“That sucks,” he says. “I mean, if you were looking forward to spending even more time with the senior class.”

“Ugh,” I say, and forehead-plant the rain-streaked window.

Brendan puts his hands in his pockets. “Anyway, just wanted to see how your dad is and how you are.”