Olive blinked down at it, not quite believing.

She held her breath.

Had she done this? Did she have that kind of power? Something awakened, brought to the surface by rage?

No way, Odd Oliver, she told herself.

It was coincidence, that’s all. People couldn’t control the world around them like that.

Least of all her.

“I was thinking we could put built-in shelves along this wall,” Daddy said, gesturing. “Floor to ceiling. With maybe a built-in desk right in the center. A place for you to do your homework. To set up a computer.”

“But I don’t even have a computer.” Her anger now came out as a whine. She hated whining.

“We’ll get you one. To go with your brand-new room.”

He smiled big and wide, and she thought, So this is how it’s going to be. A bribe. A trap, really. But it didn’t matter. It was no use fighting. What’s done was done. Daddy had made up his mind. He had already taken a sledgehammer to things, torn down the wall behind where her bed used to be. The air was full of dust, the carpet covered in the rubble that was once her wall. She hated the way the walls looked without drywall—the studs, plumbing, wiring, and junction boxes exposed. It was like catching a grown-up getting undressed. It embarrassed her. Made her wish she hadn’t seen.

Houses held secrets.

Her father seemed determined to expose all of their house’s secrets, to strip it down and tear it wide open for all the world to see. Even in her very own room.

“You could use a computer for your schoolwork,” Daddy said, giving her a sly smile. “Think how much easier your homework would be. You’re still getting homework, aren’t you?”

She nodded, looked down at the dusty carpet while he held her in his gaze.

She was sure, absolutely positive, then that he knew. He knew she hadn’t been to school that day, that she’d been skipping regularly. He knew, but he wasn’t going to say anything, wasn’t going to confront her or punish her.

The world felt off-kilter, torn open.

He held out the pry bar for her, and she understood that her helping him with this, tearing down the walls of her bedroom, endlessly renovating the house, would make skipping school okay.

It was an unspoken deal.

And she knew she had no choice. Not really.

It would be different if Mama were here. But then again, if Mama hadn’t gone away, none of this would have happened. She wouldn’t have made a habit of skipping school; high school wouldn’t have turned into the disaster that it was. The house would still be intact. Mama would never have put up with the torn-down walls, the plaster dust that covered every surface like fine snow.