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give you some insight into how things will be from now on.” She pauses. “Do you understand?”
    I look away. What I understand is that nothing we say is going to make a difference.
    After a moment, Ysabel bursts out, “Well, I’m not looking for friends.” She fiddles with her beads. “I have friends at The Crucible.”
    “And a week away from them won’t do you any harm,” Dad reminds her.
    “What, now there’s something wrong with The Crucible?” Ysabel exclaims. “What happened to saying I did good work?”
    My father closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Ysabel. There is nothing wrong with The Crucible. You won’t be gone for long. This is a step we need to take in putting our family back together, and you both might find that you enjoy yourself this week, if you just give yourselves half a chance.”
    “I get that you want us to socialize, okay,” I begin, but Mom interrupts.
    “We’re past the point of debate, guys,” she says firmly. “You’re both going to go.”
    “Well, then, I’m so glad we had this talk,” I say, pushing abruptly back from the table. “I feel much better about everything. Are we done?”
    “We’re leaving for the airport at seven,” my father says wearily.
    I grab my plate and head for the kitchen. Ysabel is only a half step behind me. I’m around the corner and halfway down the hallway before my mother speaks again.
    “That went well,” she says. Dad laughs, but it isn’t a happy sound.
    When we read
Anna Karenina
for AP English Lit this year, that thing Tolstoy says about happy families got to me. Happy families
are
all alike—all of them are safe and confident that nothing on this earth can take that away from them. Just as we were, before Dad’s little secret hit us like a wrecking ball.
    Now that we’re one of the unhappy families, all I can do is ask the questions I should have known to ask back then. Is Dad gay? Is this something he was all along?
    And if Dad wants to be a woman, do I not have a father anymore?
    God hates divorce. This is what it says in the Bible. Since God hates it, my parents aren’t big fans, either. From Mom and my grandparents I’ve heard that bit from Malachi about breaking vows and divorce so often lately I can practically recite it. “Honor thy father and thy mother” is also one of the Big Ten I learned before I was five, and I’ve filled up tons of notebooks and reams of paper for Bible class on what “honor” means.
    Along with all the rules, I’ve heard enough about love to fill books. God’s love is supposed to be unconditional, never changing, always there even for the worst of us, blah, blah, blah. We’re supposed to love each other like that, but here’s the thing: people never do.
    Fact: My parents have always said that love is enough to get me through anything
.
Fact: They’re wrong. I love my dad, but I can’t deal with him
.
Fact: I’m breaking a commandment. I know my behavior isn’t honoring anyone, but God really has to give me a break on this. I mean, did Dad honor us when he decided to put on high heels? Did he honor my mother when he took her clothes? Shouldn’t somebody say something about fathers honoring their sons?

Paying Attention
Ysabel
    Grandmama has a saying she always drags out about eavesdroppers never hearing anything good about themselves. Fact is, people who don’t eavesdrop on their parents never find out anything. I
need
to eavesdrop. I have to know what Mom and Dad are thinking.
    “I’ll load,” I hear Dad say, and Mom murmurs something in reply.
    I open the door to my bedroom a little wider, straining to catch the words.
    I didn’t really believe it, when Mom told us about Dad. Afterward, when I thought about it, I realized what I was missing was him saying the words
It’s true. I don’t want to be your fatheranymore. I want to be a woman
. All the time Mom was talking, all I could think was,
It’s a lie. All of this is a lie
.
    Starr is always saying