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an unconcerned parent, she just had no reason to distrust us. We never got into any trouble except maybe that one time we hopped the fence late at night into the water park.
    “Sure you can go,” said Beverlee. Her eyes were bright, happy to see I was fitting in. But then the smile faded and she lowered her voice and said, “Maybe you could see if Alex might want to go, too.”
    “I’ll ask her,” I agreed, though somehow I had a feeling it would be a wasted effort.
    And it was.
    “Not interested,” Alex said, sitting on the edge of her bed, staring out the window.
    Her room was a disaster. Suitcases were tossed on the floor where clothes and other various things lay scattered around. A plate stained with remnants of last Tuesday’s meatloaf, sat atop her chest of drawers; the fork lying atop the carpet just below. Absently, I counted six bright red SOLO cups sitting upon her nightstand and dresser.
    “Well, I just thought you might want to go. Get out of the house for a while.” I remained standing near the door. It was the first time I felt unwelcome in my sister’s room. Secretly I studied her. She wore the same white scoop-neck tee she had on yesterday. The same jeans that used to be mine, but apparently fit her better and so she claimed them last year. Her dark hair was oily and matted and her room didn’t smell all that great. A pair of dirty socks were hidden somewhere nearby, probably stuffed down inside the shoes she wore last.
    She had always been more organized than I was; never completely anal about it, but always sort of borderline OCD. This, the way things looked now, was incredibly unlike her.
    She never responded to my comment.
    I moved further inside the room, stepping over a box that held her Precious Moments collection; each one wrapped carefully in old newspaper. Our great-grandmother had given them to her, one for each birthday up until she died. Normally, that box would be the first thing Alex put away safely. She would never even take the porcelain bisque figurines out to display in her room, she was so afraid they’d get broken. I was surprised to be stepping over them in the middle of a dirty, cluttered floor.
    Alex hardly seemed to move and it scared me a little. I began to doubt that she had even blinked once since I walked into the room. Her pale, oval face held no emotion. No anger. No sadness. Absolutely nothing.
    I thought changing the subject might help her come around a little.
    “Have you talked to mom at all?” I leaned against the dresser.
    “No,” she said, still not looking at me.
    I hesitated, crossing my arms.
    “Well, for what it’s worth,” I said, “you were right.”
    Still nothing. I went on.
    “I miss Carla and Janelle back home,” I said, “but in a few months Carla will be moving to Texas and Janelle is so into Damon Harmon she hardly notices anyone else.”
    Alex brought both hands up and ran them roughly over her face and head, dragging her fingers through her hair. I got the sense she was anxious, trying to hold in whatever she wanted to say, which was probably about not giving a damn about my issues.
    Change of topic again. I was getting irritated.
    “You know,” I said, “you didn’t have to come here. You could’ve just gone ahead with your plans to move in with Liz and Brandon.”
    Finally, Alex looked at me. Just barely. The natural blue of her eyes seemed much darker. Black circles had set in and a red tint outlined the skin around her lower lashes like an infection. Her jaw was pulled into a subtle, yet noticeable hard line as if her teeth were pressed together bitterly. I noticed then that the bruises and the cuts left on her face and neck from the night in Georgia were gone. Hers had been worse than mine, yet I still had a few faint bruises and I thought my mouth would stay sore forever.
    “Why did you come, Alex?”
    I waited a moment. Alex swallowed hard and looked away from me; her dark bangs fell down around her eyes. “Because