She stands slowly, like an old person. I guess she knew it was coming. I guess this is what she was thinking about when she stood at the water’s edge last night. It’s why she didn’t go to work with my dad. Because she knew the woman from the bank was coming.

“Mom,” I say. “There has to be something we can do.”

She doesn’t turn around. She lifts her hand as if to silence me, then goes into her bedroom and shuts the door.

“What’s going on?” Ivy asks. She stands in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room. She’s wearing a T-shirt with a surprised emoji face on it and just her underwear.

“Put some shorts on,” I tell her.

“It’s too hot.”

“Well, you look gross,” I say.

She turns and shakes her butt at me. Her worn undies have a hole in one cheek.

I have a terrible urge to kick her. But when she turns around and says, “Why are you crying?” I brush her off and say, “It’s nothing.”

She follows me as I climb the stairs to my room.

“What’s wrong, Rachel? Did Micah break up with you as friends?”

“Shut up,” I say.

“What’s your problem? Why are you being so mean?”

“Just put some shorts on!” I yell. I slam my bedroom door in her face.

She pounds on it from the other side. “You’re a jerk!” she yells.

“Get used to it!” I yell back.

George is sleeping on my bed. He looks up at me groggily and stands on shaky legs. I sit next to him and cry harder. He rubs against my arm for a pat. I lie down, and he steps up on my chest, purring like mad. My window is open, and the paper lantern swings in the breeze. The light-blue curtains my mom made dance happily as the air passes through. I think of the first day of summer and how hopeful it all felt. What a lie. Why is life always changing for the worse?

I reach for my old teddy bear and press him over my face so I can scream into his belly the way my mom sobbed into mine. George jumps down and meows at my door. I scream again, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. People always say to cry harder or yell louder to let it all out, but that’s just a stupid phrase. Crying and screaming don’t make your sadness go away. They just make you feel it even more.

George meows again, and then I hear my door open.

“Rach?” Ivy asks quietly.

I want to yell at her for opening my door without knocking, but why bother?

“I’m just letting the cat out,” she says.

The door closes again.