“Sorry to interrupt, Dad.” I was fresh and clean simply because I didn’t need Tyrell getting on me about BO. “But I need to get to work soon.”

He didn’t look away from the screen. “Talked to your mom about it. It’s been long enough. You can have your keys back. You’re on probation, though. Any slipups, and I might sell that car.”

I noticed my confiscated possessions on the end table next to his sweaty cup of sweet tea. Keys. Phone. Laptop. Like the coveted power-ups in some video game that’d been kicking my ass. Snatching them, I ran from the house, fearing some trick or reversal. My drive to FISHto’s was the most disciplined I’d done since testing for my license.

With twenty minutes before my shift, I powered up my phone and saw two weeks of missed texts pop and scroll. There weren’t as many as I’d hoped for. Mostly everyone who would text knew I couldn’t respond, so aside from a single “you still on lockdown?” message from Shianne, there was nothing.

So, I hit up Kiera.

Me: Hey, I’m off punishment. What have you been up to?

The response bubble popped up. The ellipses danced as she typed her reply.

The bubble vanished.

I waited, stomach twisting. Fifteen minutes later she hadn’t responded and I needed to clock in.

My entire shift, my phone bulged in my pocket. A few times it vibrated while I was ringing up a customer, and as soon as the order was complete I’d check it right there on the front line, even though that was against the rules. No return text from Kiera, only notifications from apps like ESPN and SoundCloud.

On my break I resisted the urge to text again, though I checked her IG. No new posts since before Newsome busted us. Old pics of her and her brother Wes, her and the Purity Pledger girls. The formerly prominent pics of her and Colossus had been scrubbed from her page. There was nothing new with Mason. That was motivation enough to get through the rest of my shift without having a total meltdown.

After my shift, I gave in and hit her up again.

Me: You’re really quiet. Hope you’re okay.

An immediate response came through.

Kiera: I’m fine. Thanks. Hope you’re well, too.

Nothing more. No dancing ellipses, no questions about my well-being. I was salty the rest of the night. Feeling like, somehow, my punishment continued on.

No FISHto’s shift, and no church, made for a Sunday that stretched like rubber. Mom drove Cressie back to school, Dad spent most of the day in his office doing work stuff. I escaped, hoping to see Qwan. He wasn’t responding to texts, and when I went by his crib, Ms. Reid was like, “He at that girl’s house.”

Qwan was trying to fix things. Good for him, I guess.

I got away as fast as I could, and pulled over at the 7-Eleven to text Shianne.

Me: I’m out on parole. Feel like some company?