“Stop it, Ma.” He was still rattling around in the cabinet. I looked over at Lavi, who was staring down at the counter twisting a french fry between her fingers. Lavi’s mother whimpered and suddenly Daryl snapped up from his crouched position. “Did you hear what I said, Ma? I said stop it!”

He pounded his fist onto the counter; it landed on a packet of ketchup and the thick, red sauce sprayed all over the white kitchen cabinets. The loud splat it made when it hit echoed through the room and I watched as the thickest part oozed down, leaving behind a pink watery trail. Lavi startled me by reaching for my wrist. She led me to the sliding glass doors and pushed me out. “Go home, Matilda,” she whispered.

I pictured her in that house. I could hear the shrieks coming from inside and then I promised myself that someday, I would do exactly as she said I would find Franny, and I would go home.

But thinking about home made me sad. My favorite places to cry were in the shower or in the dark, but because my mother spent a lot of time in the bathroom, I started sneaking out at night to sit on the back porch. Even though the dark terrified me, I enjoyed the freedom I felt when I wasn’t surrounded by walls, so I sat in the white chair with a flashlight in my hand and I cried.

I missed Franny.

I missed watching her listen to the sound cereal made when it mixed with milk and the way she would spell in her head without realizing that her lips were moving and giving all her secrets away. I thought about her toothbrush sitting in its cup and I wondered if she remembered to make her bed and then I thought about the way her face must have looked when she realized she was alone. I wrote her letters every week, but I didn’t say much. Mostly I wrote so she wouldn’t forget me. Maybe I wrote so she would forgive me. I sat in the white plastic chair with my arms crossed and tucked into my armpits, hoping the rhythm of the crickets would distract me from all of it.