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bettin’ you’re not going to be here for morethan a minute, either. I’m the only one who sticks, and I’ll be here long after you’re gone. So, like I said, don’t get too comfortable.”
    Don’t worry
, thought Paris.
I’m never that comfortable anywhere.
She went back to chopping the peppers.
    •    •    •
    When the food was ready, Paris plopped down in the chair next to Mrs. Lincoln, licking her lips at the sight of that mountain of ribs, burgers, and toasted buns in the center of the table. She turned to smile at Mrs. Lincoln and she smiled back. That was when Paris saw a can of beer next to Mrs. Lincoln’s plate. Mr. Lincoln had one, too.
    Suddenly, Paris wasn’t so hungry anymore.
    After Mr. Lincoln said grace, everybody dug in. Except Paris. She nibbled and stirred the potato salad around her plate. A few small bites was all she managed to swallow.
    “Paris, what’s wrong?” asked Mrs. Lincoln.
    “Nothing,” whispered Paris. Her taste buds didn’t seem to be working. They weren’t able to distract her from the cans of beer on the table, or keep her from thoughts of her mother, whose drinking binges always began with a cool can of beer.
    Paris felt a rumbling in her stomach that quickly moved up into her throat. She bolted from the table and, thankfully, made it to the bathroom in time. She hung her headover the toilet bowl and threw up until all that was left in her belly was air.
    “Paris, are you all right?” Mrs. Lincoln asked through the door.
    Paris rinsed her mouth out before answering. “I’m okay.”
    Mrs. Lincoln cracked open the door to see for herself. “I’ll make you some tea and toast,” she said. “That’ll help settle your stomach.”
    Paris smiled weakly. “Thanks.”
    With her eyes on the floor, Paris returned to the kitchen and sat down. She sipped her tea and ate her toast in silence, then excused herself and went to her room. Mrs. Lincoln checked on her twice before leaving her alone for the night.
    And a long night it was. Paris lay in bed for hours wondering how many beers were being guzzled, wondering when the yelling would start, wondering when Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln would storm out into the night in search of the nearest bar, wondering when she and all the other kids would be left home, alone. But the night was as quiet as any other. There were no sounds of fighting, or even arguing, to be heard anywhere in the house.
    The next morning, Paris tiptoed downstairs before anyone else was up. She slipped open the refrigerator, foundthree remaining cans of beer. One by one, she poured the contents down the drain of the kitchen sink. Then she took the cans to the backyard and hid them behind the shed.
    When she opened the screen door to come back into the house, she found Earletta standing there.
    “If they had a drinking problem,” said Earletta, “getting rid of their beer wouldn’t help. I should know. I tried that with my last stepdad.”
    Paris pushed past Earletta without speaking.
    “They like beer once in a while, is all. Not everybody who likes beer has a problem with it.”
    “But some do,” said Paris, barely above a whisper.
    Earletta sighed. “Yeah. Some do.”
    Later that evening, at dinner, Mr. Lincoln said, “I could have sworn there was some beer left.” Earletta glanced at Paris, then looked away. Paris held her breath, waiting.
    “Oh, well,” he said. “Guess we drank more than I thought. It was good, though. Nothing like a frosty beer with ribs or burgers straight off the grill!”
    “Got that right!” said Mrs. Lincoln. And that was the end of it. The subject was never mentioned again.
    Paris sighed and felt the fist inside her unclench, one finger at a time.

Chapter 13
FUN AND GAMES
    “L et’s go, Paris,” Mrs. Lincoln called from downstairs. “It’s time! And remember, you have an appointment this afternoon with Dr. Stern. It’s right after school, so don’t dally. We don’t want to keep the doctor