“Until we have the hearing and the court makes its decision on custody, it has to be a supervised visit. I’m sure she was just trying to play it straight.”

Play it straight. Yeah, right. When has Mom ever played it straight? We used to sneak into chain hotels for free breakfast. No one ever looked twice at the mother and daughter at the waffle station as long as we were mostly clean. Even at the casinos, she was always looking for an angle. She lied about my age to get me into those karaoke nights. I look out the window. Pine trees and dirt and a warped sign letting the world know there’s a McDonald’s and a Hardee’s at the next exit.

“When?”

“Next week, after we get back. If that’s okay with you?”

I don’t say anything. Eventually Ginger turns back around. When has anybody cared about what’s okay with me?

The condo is on the bottom floor of a towering complex the deep pink color of salmon. It overlooks the ocean. And then, as if that’s not enough, there’s a pool about a hundred yards away. This is not beer cans and cigarette butts in the sand next to a broken grill. This is rented umbrellas and daiquiris from the poolside bar. This is how rich people do the beach.

Our first night here, we pick up fried fish sandwiches and hush puppies from a place next to an outdoor market selling sundresses and straw hats. We take them back to the condo and eat around the glass dining table. Afterward, Dan digs in the cupboard underneath the bar area and pulls out battered games of Monopoly and Boggle.

“Want to play?” he asks me. He looks so hopeful with his bare feet on the tile floor. I shake my head.

“I will dominate you in Boggle,” Ginger says to him, still false cheery. They are playing their parts, but I don’t want to play mine. I’m too tired to pretend to care.

She shows me to my room. The bed is white wicker, and there’s a sliding glass door that leads out to my own patio. I can hear Dan shaking the Boggle box in the living room. I turn off the lights, slide open the door, and lie down on the bed so I can hear the ocean. The rolling in and out of the waves is nice, a noise that my stupid body has decided is safe.

If I could figure out why waves are calming but fire alarms are terrifying, would it make a difference? Could I be normal then? But what if there are no reasons? What if this is just who I am, forever and ever? Forget friends. Forget school. Forget plays and movie nights and midnight talks with Well. Maybe Mom was onto something. Maybe we were better off alone.