We're sitting at the foot of my bed, facing the door. When I asked her what was wrong, she sat down and stared off into space.

I glanced out of my window, knowing the bus would pull in at any moment, but since I didn't see it up the street and didn't hear the horn, I sat next to her.

"I've been feeling—sad lately." She drags her words and wrinkles her forehead in thought. "I mean, usually around this time, I feel like shit because of Mom and Dad's almost divorce," she says. I blink back and stare at the wall in front of us. No more questions. She continues, "But these past few weeks, I've been feeling like something bad is gonna happen."

"Something like what," I ask, and she shrugs, her eyes void of emotion. She looks like she's in a trance.

"I don't know," she says, lowering her voice. "I've been having these dreams lately about the world ending on New Year's Eve, nine years from now."

"Well," I say after snickering at my shoes. We lock eyes, and my smile fades when I see how depressed she seems. She's frowning and creasing her forehead. I clear my throat. "Um, well, have you, like, talked to Mom or Dad?"

"Duh, Leila, but they've been too busy worrying about bills and work to listen. I'm not seven anymore, so if I'm not hurt, it doesn't matter." She speaks with her hands, then shakes her head at the wall in front of us. She softens her voice to a whisper and says, "I don't know what's happening to you, but I really wish things would go back to how they were. It feels like we were just talking about going to college together, and then you just—changed."

I don't say anything. I remember when her parents first tucked me in after we watched the news with Keenan and his family. At that time, I didn't know much about any of them, but I enjoyed the attention.

I hadn't been told that I was loved since I was nine. I don't really have a sob story; it just is what it is. My parents went through a period where they were so focused on keeping us in our house that they didn't have time to remember that I needed attention.

I used to want to act out like other kids, but I was too good for that. Even after being the butt of so many poor jokes, the thought of hurting someone never crossed my mind. I just wanted my parents to tell me things would be okay, and even if we ended up dirt poor, we'd have each other.

I get it now.

Michelle is hardly there, and Mom and Dad are never there, so we're all we have. I'm an imposter, an identity thief.

I can't be her comfort when I wasn't there, struggling like her and the other Leila. All I can do is share my experiences, but it's not the same.

"I guess I'm wasting my time, hoping my Leila is in there somewhere, somehow." She pulls her mouth to the side and purses her lips. I watch a tear run down her cheek and hang off her chin until she swipes it away. She takes a deep, shaky breath while rubbing her knees, then stands up and says, "You're suspended, in case you forgot."

My shoulders drop as my chest deflates. I did forget.

***

I stand in the space between the kitchen and the living room, facing the front door.

Dad's sitting in his recliner with a newspaper in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. I watch him mow through dotted lines with square-shaped slips falling into his lap like snow.

Then I turn my head to the right and stare at Mom. She's wearing a cream and red apron with flowers and ducks all across it. Some of the decorations are covered in flour and patches of fluid like her hands, but she continues flattening the dough.

"Can I go to the park?" My question makes him pause what he's doing to look at me over the grey papers.

It's only been a few hours, but I'm already bored. At my real house, I at least have a TV in my room, a shelf of books, and a few puzzles. All this Leila has is things to pamper herself in her mirror, and as tempting as it was, I don't wanna try and replicate Regina's makeup looks.

"Joseph," she drags his name with a smile, staring straight through me. "Get your daughter before I say something to her."

He sighs, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. He leans forward and sets the material on the coffee table along with the scraps, then turns at the hips with his hand out for me.

"Come here, baby girl, and leave your mother alone," he says with a blank yet firm expression. His voice is flat, but his tone is commanding.

I trudge to him with my shoulders hunched over, and I mumble, "I was just," but that's all that I can say before he interrupts me.

"You know how she gets about her pies." I sit on his left leg, closest to his knee, with my eyes on his. "She's upset and baking keeps her calm. Let her focus."

I look at Mom flattening the dough under a rolling pin, both vertically and horizontally. Her hair is in bantu knots and held down with bobby pins under a net.

"I just don't think it's fair that Regina gets to go to her friend's house," I say while bouncing my attention between him and her.

"Fair?" He shuts his eyes like he's exhausted, then stares at the blank TV. She stands up straight with the pin at her side, then walks around the island while staring me in the eyes. "I'll tell you what's unfair: standing over a stove and working a nine-to-five to provide for two girls that think they know it all."

"Teresa," he calls her in a soft voice while slightly tilting his head.

"No." She snaps her head at him, narrowing her eyes and scrunching her mouth. She points the rolling pin at him. "You were supposed to speak to them, and clearly, you didn't."

He furrows his eyebrows as he shakes his hand. He lifts his shoulders and hands. "What're you talking about?"

"When I came back to bed after staying up, waiting for Regina and Leila to come home, you told me you'd talk to them in the morning," she says, and every other word is like she's jabbing at him. We watch him look at the ceiling with the sides of his nose scrunched for a few moments, and then his face relaxes.

"Oh," he says, and his shoulders droop as he turns his eyes to her. "'Reesa, I was asleep."

"Of course." She throws her hands up but tightens one on the rolling pin. When she turns her back to us, we share a glance. We watch her return to her spot behind the island. "You were asleep then, you were at work when Leila thought she was Mike Tyson, you were having the time of your life with your brother when his wife gave our daughter alcohol."

"What?" He lowers his eyebrows, and without looking away from her, he taps my knee. I stand up, and he walks toward the kitchen. "When was this?"

"Which one, Joseph?" She drops the pin on the stretched dough to cross her arms. He stops on the other end of the island, and she fidgets with her scrunched mouth.

"Stop, I'm being serious," he says with a no-nonsense tone, but it doesn't make her relax her face or drop her arms. "When did LaToya give Leila alcohol?"

"It was Regina," she says, lifting her chin as her facial expression loosens.

"Oh," he mumbles, dropping his head and folding his arms too. She blinks hard and tilts her head, so her ear is aimed at him.

"Oh?" She places her hands on the edge of the countertop between them and leans slightly forward. "Need I remind you she's fifteen?"

He pinches his nose bridge and says under his breath, "I know she's fifteen."

"Then what do you mean, Oh?" He looks at her when she raises her voice, but he doesn't lower his hand.

"Teresa, I need you to calm down," he says with the same soft tone. She straightens her head with her jaw dropped enough for her lips to be parted.

She doesn't listen. All his suggestion does is make her more upset and she yells, "Calm down? It seems like I've been too calm because all of our kids have lost their minds!"

"What'd Michelle do?" With her head turned to her right, she glares at him from the corner of her eye.

I haven't moved from beside his chair since he stood up. I watch them with my teeth clenched and my jaw tight. First Regina and Michelle argued; now Mom and Dad. It's like whenever I open my mouth, old issues surface between these people, and I don't know what to do or say to stop them.

"And I guess you forgot about her wanting to get married to that boy," she says in a lower volume, but her tone is still biting. He runs his hand down his face and turns to his left, his hand on his chin. "I don't know where I went wrong. I thought I was raising them right, but apparently, I learned nothing from my mom and her mom."

He doesn't say anything.

She stares at the side of his face. She slowly shakes her head, narrows her eyes as if she doesn't recognize him, and backs into the stove.

"I think I need some space," she says, then sits her hands on her hips.

He lets out a heavy sigh that puffs and deflates his cheeks like two balloons. "Alright. I'll see if Earl or Wallace mind going out for drinks."

He looks at her when she scoffs, and she says, "I don't mean I wanna stay in this house with you out having fun."

"What, then? Do you wanna go get your nails done or something?" Her chest and shoulders bounce when she scoffs again, but with her mouth closed this time. My heart starts racing as her eyes grow darker and colder.

"No." She's silent for a moment, and by him turning to her, I know he's just as anxious as me. She drops her head and licks her lips. "Joseph," she says so softly that it sounds like a whisper, "I want a divorce."

My heart skips a beat and I instantly feel nauseous. In my mind, I see Regina's face full of tears and the moment from earlier.

'I've been feeling—sad lately.'

'I mean, usually around this time, I feel like shit because of Mom and Dad's almost divorce.'

"Are you serious, Teresa?" He tilts his head and drops his arms. She looks toward the fridge, and he says, "This is why we had the problems we did before; one small disagreement, and you're ready to leave."

I trudge toward the hall with my mouth open and my eyes wide.

I need to speak to Keenan, like, right now. I know he's just gonna yell at me or roll his eyes at what I've somehow managed to do, but I feel in over my head.

Honestly, I wanna go home.