She tore the notebook paper out of the pad, then popped open her binder, slotting it in at the end. It was easier to stay in her room and be quiet, and better still if she was doing homework, because it was hard for anyone to complain about her doing her homework. There wasn’t enough work to do to fill whole afternoons after school and before bed, so she’d started to work ahead. A lot of it was dull or confusing, but after a while, she’d started to make a game of it. It was her hope that she could finish the entire third grade math textbook before Christmas.

Binder closed. Books put away in her bag for school tomorrow. She turned her music and television off, then turned off the light in her room.

The bathroom was empty, the coast clear. She closed and locked the door, then got one of the metal wicker baskets from the shelf, moving the hand towels inside to the edge of the counter before putting the basket down upside-down on the bathroom floor. It worked like a stepping stool, giving her the height she needed to reach the taps, which was harder to do since the new counter and sink Mom and Dad had put in.

Sleeves pushed up, hands thoroughly washed and dried, sleeves rolled down. Towels went back in the basket, which was dusted off before it went back on the shelf.

Then, because she was looking for reasons to delay sitting down to dinner, she gave the bathroom what Mom called a once-over. She saw the glint of drops of water on the counter, hurried over to the basket to get one of the hand towels, and dabbed them up before folding the towel back up and putting it in the basket.

Her nose wrinkled as she walked down the hall, past the kitchen, and through the corner of the living room to the dining room. She made sure nobody saw.

The table was one that could seat six, Mom had been proud of that when she picked it. It was old and gleaming and nice, but there were only three of them for the very big table. Her dad had chair at one end, her mom had a chair at the other, and she had a chair in the middle, each of them off to either side, where she had to turn her head to see them. She took her seat, fingers clutching the end of her skirt, toying with the pleat.

“Creamy Parmesan Chicken Gratin,” her mom announced, as she set down the plate.

Despite her best efforts, Kanzi couldn’t keep her nose from scrunching up as she gave the dish her best dubious look. It looked like vomit with a crust on top.

It smelled like vomit with a crust on top.