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where I thought she would be.
    My stomach feels a little bit uneasy as I remember all she told me about the dance studio and my skin prickles, but at the moment the feelings seem manageable. Mostly, I think they’re held at bay by the promise of being able to draw when I get home. What I told Evie is true—it really is all easier to handle now that I allow myself to draw.
    I park my dad’s car in his spot in front of the apartment and head inside, twirling the key ring around on my forefinger as I walk. I pause on the back porch and pull what appears to be an envelope out from the doorjamb and then walk inside, flipping on the lights so I can look at it. My name is on the outside of it.
    Before I can open it, I hear a noise and look up to see my dad standing in the entryway of the kitchen. I jump, surprised by his sudden appearance.
    “Holy shit!” It escapes before I can help it. “I didn’t even see you there.”
    “Language,” he scolds harshly. For the hundredth time in my life, I reflect on the hypocrisy of parents with filthy mouths who scold their children for following in their footsteps.
    Even so, I’m still on a high from time spent with Evie and not even my dad can spoil the memory of her in my arms. I give him a mocking salute.
    “Yessir.”
    “Where were you tonight?” he asks, just as I’m moving to slip past him and make good my escape.
    “On a date,” I reply evasively, not wanting to get into all that just now. But it’s too late. I’ve said the magic words.
    “You were with that Parker girl, weren’t you?” he asks gruffly.
    I had been intent on escaping and avoiding, but at this, I turn and can’t keep a sardonic edge from my voice. “‘That Parker girl’ has a name, Dad. Her name is Evie. And yes, I was with her. And we had a great time, thanks for asking.”
    The glint of anger and annoyance that flashes in my dad’s eyes is a familiar one to me. A sign of what’s ahead. Just as always, we’re about to get into it. Again.
    “Don’t expect me to be there to piece you back together after she runs off,” he mutters, fists dangling loosely at his sides.
    “Don’t worry, Dad. You haven’t been there to help me through any other emotional turmoil in my life. I wouldn’t expect you to hold my hand through a break up either.”
    His eyes narrow, just as his lips thin and he advances a step toward me. I brace my feet, carefully sliding the envelope into my back pocket.
    “Why is it that you are always so ungrateful and selfish?” he asks quietly. “After all I’ve done for you, you’re still always too wrapped up in your own little problems and miseries to care about anyone else. You-”
    “ I’m selfish?” I burst out, unable to keep it in any longer. The hot rush of anger in my veins doesn’t feel sticky and repulsive to me just now. It feels good, healthy. And so I keep letting it out. “That’s really rich, Dad. Because you’ve been so wrapped up in all your own problems and issues, and so obsessed with seeing me as a selfish delinquent that you haven’t even noticed I’ve been doing better. A lot better. I’ve finally been getting over it all, trying to live again. I’m drawing again like you always wanted, did you know? Probably not, because you haven’t even asked me how school is going. And you know who’s helped me with all that, helped me get better? Yeah, that would be rich, snobby, Evangeline Parker, who you think wouldn’t give me the time of day. So don’t you ever tell me I’m selfish ever again. Do you understand me?”
    I’ve never talked to my dad like this before. I’ve talked back, cussed, been sarcastic, but never have I actually given him an order. Never have I , in a crazy reversal of roles, been the one pointing my finger at him as I am now.
    Both of us are breathing quickly, identical eyes wide as we stare at each other. Then my dad’s face goes dark.
    “How dare you-” he begins, but I throw my hands up in the air and turn toward