“Stealing?” Jamee repeated in a high-pitched tone. Darcy could always tell when Jamee was lying. Her voice went up an octave and trembled. “Why would I do that? Who said such a stupid thing?”

“Bobby was telling his friend at school today that he had you wrapped around his finger and you stole for him. He was laughing about it, and the other guy was laughing too. Bobby said you were just a stupid little kid and it was fun to make you dance to his tune. ” Darcy changed what Bobby had said a little, but she kept the main point. She felt bad for hurting Jamee, but she had to do it to help her sister.

Jamee stood there, a strange, terrible look on her face, as if her heart had stopped. She turned ashen. “Y-you’re lying! Lying! Bobby wouldn’t have said those things. He likes me. He l-loves me!”

Darcy was absolutely sure now that Jamee was the girl Bobby was talking about. “Do you want to get in trouble and go to jail because of some lousy punk who’d just as soon diss you as kiss you? Jamee, you should have heard them laughing about that CD you stole, about how stupid you were. Bobby said you’d do anything for him because you’re a puppet on a string,” Darcy said.

Jamee clamped her hands over her ears and screamed, “Stop it! I hate you, I hate you!” She turned and ran into her room, slamming the door so forcefully that the apartment walls shook. In a second’s time, loud rap music thumped through the apartment.

And it’s you I blame,

For makin’ this noise,

For causin’ this pain,

For takin’ my voice.

And I need it to stop,

Like a tired old clock,

Before my body drops,

And my mind pops.

Darcy stood outside the closed door of her sister’s room. Mingled with the blasts of furious music were other sounds—loud sobs, things striking the walls, the sound of shattering glass.

Chapter 3

“Who’s that crying? Oh my Lord! Who’s that crying?” Grandma moaned. Darcy rushed to Grandma’s room. She was trying to get out of bed by herself. “One of the babies is crying, child!”

“No, no, Grandma,” Darcy said. “Let me bring your walker. Here—I’ll help you. ” Darcy wheeled the walker over to the side of the bed and slid her hand under Grandma’s arm. “There we go. ”

“Who’s that crying? Mattie Mae? Is that Mattie Mae bawling like that? Is that you crying, Charlotte? One of my babies is crying!” Grandma wailed. Mattie Mae and Charlotte were Grandma’s daughters. Sometimes she thought they were children again.

“Grandma, everything is all right,” Darcy said. “Do you want to go to the bathroom? I’ll help you. Look, here’s the walker. ”