“A theater thing. I’m sure it is. I’ll blame that one on your mother. Listen, you kids got a ride home?” His phone rings then, and he doesn’t wait for our answer.

I guess that is our signal to leave. We all pull out our phones to call for rides. Dan answers on the first ring. He says they’re finishing dinner, and he will be over in fifteen minutes. And then he whispers, “Unless this is an emergency—then I will come now.”

“Why are you whispering?” I whisper back.

“I don’t know. It’s only been an hour. I wanted to make sure the movie wasn’t too scary, or, you know…” He trails off. Sweet Dan, who has learned not to use the blender or bang the kitchen cabinets or hug me on the way into school, is worried about me. Tears spring to my eyes, and I’m not even sure why. I tell him fifteen minutes is fine and hang up.

Nobody looks at Well while we wait to be picked up. Not that he’d notice, since he’s looking at the floor.

I’m the last one to leave, and Well walks me to the door. He’s changed into a T-shirt and sweatpants. The black lipstick is gone, but there’s still a faint outline, like a bruise.

We sit on the wide stone steps and wait for Dan.

“Sorry about my dad back there.”

I shrug, because what is there to say?

“He just doesn’t get it… doesn’t get me. Maybe it would have been better if they’d had more kids. Or if he’d listened to my mom and moved us all to the West Coast. But I don’t know, maybe not.” The wind ruffles his hair forward, and he looks younger, smaller.

“My mom doesn’t get me, either.”

“No?”

“No. She, uh, wishes I were more like her, I think. Louder, flashier, you know.”

“Is your mom a movie star or something?”

I give a sad smile. “No. She’s a waitress in Tahoe.” At least she was last time I heard, I think. It’s strange not knowing. Like holding on to a very long balloon. You know it’s out there, but you can’t always feel it when you tug. Sometimes I don’t even know if I want to feel it. Would it be better to let go? So I can stop wondering if she misses me? I twist my hair into a knot at the base of my neck and then release it so it unfurls slowly, like Mom used to do.

“So how come you’re here and she’s there?” Well doesn’t look at me when he asks. He’s picking at his fingernail polish. Peeling it off in green strips. Which is probably why I answer his question. We’ve never talked about why I’m living with Ginger and Dan.