“Sorry to have been off the map,” she said. “It’s just been hard. No one in my family has helped with the transition from juvie to normal life. My uncle drove me here and used to come see me a few times a week, but that’s it. My family treats me like I’m a career criminal. Derrick came over last month and tried to sneak in the house. I don’t have the fucking slightest what he was up to. I scared him off, but he probably went back and told everybody else how I threatened him. And I know I shouldn’t care because fuck them, but I do. All year, I took care of this house because I thought if I showed them what I had done with it, and showed them what I’d done with myself by graduating on time, they would at least talk to me. But after Derrick was over here, it just seemed useless. When I told him I owned the house, he looked at me like I was just trash. So now I’ve trashed the house… Stupid, I know.”

Kai nodded sympathetically. “Wow, that’s like the realest shit you’ve ever told me. This is like some best friend shit,” she whispered.

“Jesus Christ, you’re a fucking corn dog.”

“Hell yeah. Hot, brown, salty, and popular among the lazy and degenerate.”

“You know I just poured my fucking soul out to you, right?”

“Yeah, I know. Felt good, right?”

“Not really. Don’t you have anything better to do than to solve my problems?”

“Yes. But I’m doing it anyway, so first, I need you to make more tea. Second, give me the booze so I can flush it. Third, I don’t really know. Zed and Apollo will explain the rest. Just know that there are more satellites. Lots more. Let’s smoke.”

“Okay,” Sol replied, shuffling through the cabinet for a pot to boil some water. Finding one, she filled it and placed it on the stove. Kai trailed her as she traipsed over to the liquor cabinet. Did she really have to throw all that liquor away?

“Yes,” Kai’s stern face answered. Sighing, Sol forked over three bottles of tequila and a bottle of whiskey. Kai beamed with satisfaction, retrieving Sol’s wine glass from the kitchen counter then heading to the bathroom.

Sol remained in the living room, plopping onto the couch and surveying the destruction she’d wrought over the last month. The carpet was stained red from cheap merlot. The fan hung limply from the ceiling, spinning like a skipped record. Her grandmother’s couch smelled of blunt ashes and corn syrup.

This house—Sol’s house—didn’t deserve this. Training her eyes on the ceiling, she tried to ask her grandmother for forgiveness, her body unwinding as her few sips of wine churned in her empty stomach.