Clover nuzzles herself closeto me just as Dad comes inside the house, putting his coat on therack. "I'm home, ladies."

I can't stop the smile on myface. He has to be happy when he sees Clover. I sweep her into myarms as I go towards Dad, who puts a kiss on my cheek. "Daddy, Iwant you meet Clover." I put her in front of him, smile. "I foundher a while ago. Can we keep her?"

Dad takes Clover out my arms."Did you take her to a vet?"

"Yeah, they say she'shealthy." I answer, bouncing on my toes. Oh, I hope he'll let mekeep her. I think of her like my baby. Though she cries a little, shecalms at my touch, so long as she sniffs to remember my scent.

"Oh, she's a real beauty.Have you been taking care of her?"

"I've had her in thecare of the Johnsons across the street for a while until you were . .. you know."

Dad's expressions softens into guilt, and hegently pats my head. "I won't be like that again." He puts Cloverback in my arms, and he scratches her ear. She leans into him with asoft whimper. "I promise. Now, shall we get her a collar with atag?"

I nod with glee. "Mom loves her already." When Ihad shown Clover to her as she got home, she immediately fell inlove, nuzzling her soft face for hours. "She's taking a little napin the bedroom." I point upstairs.

"I'll wake her soon,"He plants a kiss on my forehead as he hikes his way up the stairs."Autumn, I love you okay?"

The object in my chestflutters with joy. Maybe he really did change, for good this time.Maybe he'll return to the happy go-lucky Dad. Maybe Mom will forgetwhat he did, or slowly accept it. I had with Carlton.

I had called him to say Iwanted to go to Homecoming, and that had him surprised, but he wentfor it anyway. Saying he'll buy our tickets as soon as they're onsale at school. (Which they are now, but I don't want to remind himsince he may call me a nag.) And I decided to text Jessica-apparentlyshe put her phone number on a sticky note in my psychology book-toask when we'll get ready to go shopping.

I think things are changingfor me, despite my odd friendship with Spencer. Or something. He ismore so my protector, and he doesn't even press as much about mylife. I only tell him very little, but I want to know about him.About the newspaper clippings along his bedroom wall. Of thatgirl in the picture. I kept deflecting so he wouldn't see the damagedpieces.

He hasn't seen the slashes onmy arms, nor the cuts and bruises hidden under layers and layer offoundation. The tears constantly soaking my pillow. The broken glass,the bloody page in my book. And I intend that he doesn't ever.

Clover whines, a sign she'shungry, and I get to the kitchen to hand her a bottle I made for her,some milk replacement I found in a pet store. She hesitates, butforces her lips open to suckle it, her little nail pinching theplastic. She's greedy, but it's understandable. I hum a song,quietly. She keeps her pretty eyes on me.

I hear footsteps coming downthe steps, and I hear laughing. It's foreign to hear it from mymother and father, but when he's in a good mood, it is contagiousenough for me to smile. I look up to see Dad holding Mom bridalstyle, her arms around his neck. He sets her down, and kisses hercheek. "Work was good?"

"Yeah, it was great. The staffwas glad I was back. I did some paperwork today, and I'll be with mynew class tomorrow morning." Mom says, looking at me with a tightgrin. "We're gonna get Clover a dog tag, so whose number should beon the tag?"

Dad ponders on this before hesmiles all of his teeth. "I say Autumn, because she found the cutelittle thing."

I flash a grin in theirdirections. Things are actually changing for the better. "So we'rekeeping her?"

"Long as you clean up after her, feed her,and brush her."

"I will!" I exclaim,rushing up to them to give a hug. I'm sandwiched between the two ofthem, and we both let out happy sighs. We're going to be okay.

Mom slides an arm around me,running thin fingers through my short hair. "Clover is like your little baby, she seems to cling to you."

Clover makes a small sound,nuzzling her head to my chest. "Yeah, she does. Can we teach her togo up the stairs?"

"After we get her things."Dad says, ruffling my hair like when I was eight. "Your mom and Iwill be right back. But do you want anything while we're out?"

"Can I come with you?" Iask. "Please? You won't know if she needs a big or small collar."

Dad ponders, in a way thatmakes his left eyebrow raise. "Good point, Autumn. Come on, kiddo."He waves the keys to the car. "Last one in the car is a bakedpotato!"

"Hey, I'm small!" Ishout, trying to catch up with them. Clover yips in my arms as I racedown the porch, getting in the backseat, seeing Spencer andStephanie through the car window. Stephanie is skipping rope, tryingto catch up with her brother. He lifts his head as the car roars tolife. Our eyes meet, and I barely have time to wave my hand as weleave the cul-de-sac.

His eyes are burning into meafter we leave, and I hold Clover close. She wants to see him. Or itmay be because she hasn't been in this car. I scratch her ears, andshe melts in my touch. I focus on her breathing, the occasional softwhine as we make it to the pet store. Soft music comes from thespeakers, and I look out the window again, seeing everything blurinto nothing.

When I had brought Cloverback home, the first thing she did was curl up on a small pillow frommy closet. Making the loudest huff ever; it was so adorable I took apicture of her. She was even picturesque. Smiling brightly. Cloverbrings a smile to my face on my bad days.

We reach the pet store inabout 15 minutes, and Mom and Dad get out of the car. I take my timeso I can hold Clover. We go inside the pet store, the smell of otherpets filling my nose. I fight my urge to sneeze, and feel my dogsquirm in my arms. "You okay, baby?" I ask.

"She's probably sniffingeverything around her," Mom says, walking over to one of theworkers to help us out. Clover squirms again, but she calms when Iwhisper soft words in her ear. A man with sandy blond hair comes upto us, bending to see my dog and me. Curse my small height.

"Mindtelling me the breed?" he asks me. I see his nametag. Derek.

"W-white German Shepherd."I stutter.

"Ah, lovely choice. How oldwould you say she is?"

"A week and a half, at least."

"Okay, come with me, we'regonna fit her a nice collar. What collar would you like for her?"He waves his hand for us to go down an aisle full of dog leashes andcollars. "You can pick."

I put Clover in my mother'sarms while I search for collars. I run my finger across each one,stopping at a voice that says, Pick one already. Daddy won't stayhappy forever. I pick a green collar, and a leash to match.

"Cute choice." Mom says.

Though it isn't my firstchoice, I do think it'll work for now. I let him take the collarfrom my hands and I hold Clover, feeling her curl up close, softlyhowling. She's been talkative today. I scratch her ears as Derek goesover to the food aisle, going through each and every brand beforechoosing some fitting her breed.

The whole time we spend inthe pet store, I take a moment to think, wondering how Dad may betaking this. The fact we're out, as a family, is something ofimprovement. He's letting Mom work again, he hasn't been abusive.Perhaps, this is the time where he truly saw his evil ways.

We leave with plenty of dogfood to last two months, two silver bowls for dog food and water, adog collar and leash, and a brochure about the benefits of chipping her, and a tiny bed. Plus, I got her some dog treats.

Clover breaks into a smile asI scratch her chin in the car. My mom and dad are conversing happily.I can tell them about the dance coming up. They should be happy forthat. I'm getting out to converse. To see other happy. But then, whoknows if they'll be okay with me being with Carlton.

"Mom. Dad."

"Yes?"Dad answers. "What's up, kiddo?"

"Um, there's a d-dancecoming up. I don't know if it's okay . . . May I go?"

Dad runs his hand along hisbeard, confusion etched there. "Ah, it's um. Homecoming, right? Ithink you can go. Your grades are good?"

"Yes, sir." I say."Always."

"I suppose. You have moneyfor your dress?"

I nod. "Yes."

"Whenis it over?"

My euphoria of wanting to be out late wanes. "10:30pm."

"Hmm. It's a Saturday?"He repeats the process of stroking his beard.

Please,please. I beg to some entity.Please give me a chance.

"Malcolm,"Mom presses softly. "Give her this opportunity." She gives asmile that I believe is painful. Every little gesture showinghappiness is pain to us.

"All right." Dad says, atad enthusiastic. "You can go. Who is taking you?"

"Carlton."I say.

I hope it is a lie.

I hope Carlton says he won'ttake me.

But the next day, he asks meout. And I say yes.