Everything was going so well. Her last international hip-hop session was a raging success. It should have made Liza happy.

She laughed and smiled and did and said all the right things. All the media articles were complimentary, saying she was on her way up, not knowing her station was handing out pink slips like a paper factory. She had thrown out their contractually mandated playlist, and however popular she was, her big final insurrection would not go unnoticed.

When it was dark, Liza slept, and when it was day, she compiled playlists, ate, and watched Marvel movies.

Liza, I see you in everything I do. I feel you.

She was never sure how much time passed between her time at the studio and her time at home. Her interactions were generic, and her family, who were always the most annoyed by her sharp tongue, seemed lost with its absence. It occurred to Liza that little by little, the days had become hotter; the birdsongs of spring were replaced by the neighborhood children outside. Her sister was thriving in New York without David and was sending money back to the family. Granny put her window AC unit back into her room. It was summer, but Liza’s cinnamon skin had lost its bronze glow and her hair stayed in a silk scarf—hoping but never getting to be unwrapped. Bev would weave in and out of the room commenting on the state of her hair, the smell of her room, and the puffiness of her face.

She was on her third shot of Crown Royal Apple when her mother dropped an envelope on her bed. The envelope was thick and creamy white with gold foil type. Somebody with money wanted her somewhere. Her heart leapt. Could it be Dorsey? Liza let the idea linger for a moment. He would not be renewing any friendships, or any “-ships” with her. She would not feel bad for standing up for her sister, but her throat still clenched at the thought of WIC. She had to stop herself before she spiraled down into guilt again.

Liza, I want to wake up with you in my arms.

When she looked back up again, her mother hovered at the door. Granny pretended to dust the floor near her door. LeDeya craned her neck and stepped past Granny to snatch the letter out of Liza’s hands.

“Why does it take you forever to do stuff?” LeDeya pulled the thick paper out of the envelope.

“This could be another invite to meet some people with money,” Bev said.

“Unlikely, with the way y’all acted in Philly,” Granny said.

Bev looked only slightly chastened. “Next time I won’t invite that tacky pastor.”

“Oh right, the pastor was tacky,” Liza said.

“Excuse me?” Bev’s neck swiveled in Liza’s direction. Liza didn’t bother staring back and jumped for her letter.

“Deya, don’t you open my mail!” Liza jumped again for her letter.