Dad repeatedly slams the hammer against a nail, sending it through a board covering Regina's bedroom window. She's standing in her doorframe with her arms crossed and me looking over her shoulder.

"You do realize you're putting a hole through the," she starts to speak sarcastically to him for the fifth time in less than an hour, but he interrupts her.

"Gina, don't test me today," he firmly tells her while staring over his shoulder at us. The hammer hovers over the nail, his hand unsteady from exhaustion. He stammers, "I'm - I'm fed up with every last one of you," then turns his attention forward. He takes a breath, shakes his head, then proceeds to nail the slab of wood over her window.

"Even me," I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. He's been upset for a while; I noticed it more so on the ride home with Gina, but I ignored it, hoping he'd let it go.

"Yeah, even you, Squeak." I look at her when she answers for him. I know she's only teasing me, and as happy as I am that things are slowly getting back to normal, now's not the time. I'd grown attached to her, Dad, and even Troy. I don't wanna leave knowing two out of the three hate me.

Dad doesn't answer, so I press my lips into a thin line and pull my mouth aside as my eyes glaze over. He's still mad about earlier, and I think it's mostly about Troy.

Troy gave up his seat and sat behind Dad again, but, that time, he was quiet. I looked at him a few times, and my heart sank into my stomach when I saw his reflection through the window. He had tears running down his face, and his body was shivering like he was cold. Dad glanced at him through the rearview and let out this sigh that made his tense shoulders drop, and he shook his head.

He tried talking to him but didn't get much other than 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir'. Even Keenan started telling stories to pass the time and lighten the mood, but nothing helped. He did the same sigh and head shake as my dad and looked out of his own window. We sat in silence until we reached Troy's apartment.

Dad runs his gloved hand back and forth across the single board set in the middle of her window. He could've gotten more pieces from the shed out back, but I think he's purposely using one because she wouldn't fit through. It's like making it an option to run away, but knowing it's impossible.

"Alright," he says, tucking the hammer in his tool belt. He steps off her bed, and without taking his eyes off her, he yanks the gloves off his fingers one by one. "Now, I'm heading outside to put this away." He slows his speech, his tone telling her he's warning her. She sets her hands on her hips as she rolls her eyes.

"If I leave the house, you and Mom will rain down a punishment I've never had before and I'll be taken off the JV team," she tells him, dragging her words. He narrows his eyes at her, and I flick mine from him to her.

He removes the left glove and glances at me. His socks squish her carpet as he approaches us, and I swallow my nerves when he stops in front of her.

"Drop the attitude," he tells her, pointing his exposed finger in her face. They lock eyes, neither speaking for a few seconds. Eventually, she looks at his hand, then to her right, and he lowers it to remove the other glove. He turns his head to me and says, "Go to bed. You're not off the hook either."

His tone, his eyes, and the unmoving scowl on his face. Even how he towers over us sends goosebumps down my back and arms. I twist my mouth to the side and bite my cheek to keep from trembling.

When we made it home with Regina, Mom ran to us and lifted her off her feet in a hug so tight her face started turning red. Neither of us expected it. Gina looked at me with furrowed eyebrows like Mom was crazy and all I could do was stare with my jaw dropped. Before we stepped through the door, we counted under our breaths, thinking she'd be in the living room with a belt or a shoe, but she stepped out of her room and eyed us from the long, dark hall. She looked like a ghost under the silver satin gown and robe, and then she looked like she saw one. The rest is history.

Dad steps between us and strolls down the hall, tucking his gloves into his belt. He left his boots in the kitchen, near the back door, to avoid leaving muddy footsteps through the house.

Regina runs her hand down her face and groans against her palm. She stands there, surveying her cluttered room with one hand on her hip and the other swaying at her side. Her eyebrows dip and form a crease above her nose bridge when her attention falls on the window, then her mouth twitches a few times before she pulls it aside.

She has clothes and papers littered on the floor near her bed, clothes strewn across her bed and chair, makeup opened, and some tubes of lipstick lying on their sides. It was like she frantically wrote her note and packed her clothes. 

"You know," I mumble, then pause to gather my thoughts. There's so much I wanna say and ask, but I don't wanna overload her. She stares at me over her shoulder, her expression not changing. She has a sad look in her eyes, like she lost something or someone important. I close my eyes and lick my lips. I take a deep breath and say in a louder voice, "I'm really glad you're home."

She scoffs without opening her mouth, the air whistling out of her nose and causing her shoulders to jump. She shakes her head as she turns it forward to stare at the single board. It's perfectly centered and seems to taunt her need to escape. I can tell by her hands, slowly balling into tight fists.

"He put that fucking thing right there, knowing I'd wanna leave again." I sweep my eyes up and down her body. She doesn't have wide hips like Mom or Michelle, but her shoulders are broad and her legs are bigger than a lot of girls her age because she plays volleyball. Even if she tried to squeeze through the crack below the board over her window, she wouldn't make it past her chest or her legs. I don't say anything. She scoffs and shakes her head again while crossing her arms. "I'm happy you're feeling better, Squeak, but I'm not glad to be home."

"Why not," I ask, and my voice sounds like a whisper again. She brings her narrowed eyes to meet mine, which refuse to remain on hers.

"Um, earth to Leila, it's because they're breaking up," she reminds me, confirming what I already know. I knew when I asked, but I was hoping she'd let their decision go and make the best of what we have. "It's like I'm in the Twilight Zone." She tosses her hand up and widens her eyes. "Mom and Dad are divorcing, and it's like no one cares but me. You of all people should understand, but it's like you couldn't care less!"

I shut my eyes and take a breath to keep from giving her the same lecture that made her run away the first time.

"Gina, I know you're mad, but," I start to tell her to think positively, but she cuts me off.

"Mad? Leila, I'm sad." Her voice cracks. She looks at the window and says, "Honestly, sadness doesn't touch how I feel; it's too simple and small," then turns to me. "I spent what felt like two days at Tommy's house, sleeping because I was so sad it made me tired."

"That sounds like depression?" She scrunches her face at me. "Depression. It's like, you're so sad, you don't feel like doing anything. Sometimes people sleep a lot or just lay down all the time." She lets her eyes drift, as if she's thinking about it. I know someone like that. She'd have moments when she'd be smiling, laughing, and joking around, then become the opposite. For months after her dad died, she slept through the day, and eventually, her parents took her to a counselor. Maybe that's what Regina needs. Without thinking, I say, "My cousin," and my eyes widen at my slip-up, but she doesn't notice. I blink a few times, then say, "Keenan told me he has depression, and he speaks to a guy at school and at this building in town who helps him, like, process his feelings."

"A shrink?" She raises an eyebrow at me, and my mouth falls open. "I'm not crazy, Leila," she says through laughter. I don't respond. She walks further into her room, heading toward the bed. I follow her and clasp my hands behind my back, watching her face for a reaction. She takes a shaky breath, then sits on the side of her bed with one leg hanging off and her upper back propped against her headboard. I sit beside her foot and glance at her white ankle socks.

Bush crickets chirp near her window, and I turn to meet my reflection in the glass. I slide my hands down my braids, feeling where the beads once were and where some remain.

"Do you think they'll ever get back together," she asks me in a low voice, and I dim my eyes. This topic feels tedious, but I can't tell her that. I look at her. She's staring at her hands over her stomach, the nails on her thumbs and indexes folding her t-shirt's hem. She and Dad hadn't changed their clothes.

"I don't know, 'Gina," I stammer, not wanting to have this conversation. "Maybe they will. Who knows?"

She lets out a small Hm, then releases her shirt. Under her breath, she tells me, "Must be nice to have someplace to run off to after wreaking havoc on innocent people and ruining lives," and I jerk my head back with a scrunched face. She smirks at my reaction. "What's it like where you're from?"

"Here we go," I mumble while rolling my eyes and relaxing my face.

"Don't piss me off, Leila." I tilt my head at her, my eyes forming slits. We spent what felt like hours trying to convince her we weren't time travelers and it's like all of it went out the window. I should've known she didn't believe me, but I figured me throwing a tantrum changed her mind. "I feel like we'd have a better relationship if you were honest." I open my mouth to respond, but she lifts a finger and firmly says, "You're not my fucking sister, so don't try to give me the same b.s Keenan did." I press my lips together, and she drops her hand onto her stomach. Softly, she tells me, "I don't even care to hear you admit it, okay? I know what I know; I believe what I believe; and it is what it is."

"Fine." I shrug and pout my lip, my eyes dimming again. "Since you wanna know so bad, I'm an alien from Neptune, and Keenan's from Jupiter." She rolls her eyes, but her expression softens when I say, "We landed here in a spaceship that fell on that lady's cow and killed it instantly."

She's silent for a few seconds.

"Really," she asks in a whisper, genuinely curious. I blink, look to my right without turning my head, and then I nod. She sits up. "So, where's the spaceship?" I stare at her hazel-brown eyes, unsure if she's pretending to believe me.

"I - we sent it back after the cow died." She slowly nods, her mouth falling open and her eyebrows furrowing. "It'll be here tomorrow to get us, but you can't tell anyone, 'Gina."

"Man, that's crazy," she says, then runs her hands over the top of her head. Her braids fall down her back, and then she straightens her posture. "It's crazy that you and Keenan can sit in my face and lie so easily." I roll my eyes onto the Janet Jackson poster across from me, my back slouching a bit more.

I don't know what she wants. I feel like the truth sounds faker than the story I just made up, but even if she starts to believe it, that'll only cause us more harm than good. I look at her and suck in air through clenched teeth. I flinch so hard that I fall to the floor, landing on my leg. I sit on the floor with one hand on my chest and the other propping myself up.

Her once hazel-brown eyes are black and the whites are blood-red. She's slouching and staring at me with her mouth slightly open. She doesn't look like a monster, even though her eyes are beady, but the emptiness in her eyes makes me feel like I'm staring down a well at night.

I blink, and she's normal. Her eyes, resembling honey, squint at me like I'm weird.

"Leila, what's wrong with you? Get up." I do as told, trembling and stumbling to my feet. I stand there in silence, breathing heavily out of my mouth. She looks around with her eyebrows pulled together, then slowly scoots over in the bed. She lifts the blanket, burrows her feet under it, and then holds the comforter in the air, inviting me into the bed with her. I clear my throat and slowly climb on. I rest my head on the pillow beside hers, and she drops the blanket over me.

Those bush crickets finally stop, and I take a deep breath that calms my nerves.

We lay on our backs, staring at her ceiling. My mind replays the talk I had with Keenan earlier.

"Seeing things?" He turns his head to me.

"Yeah, teachers with all-white eyes; two-headed dogs; stuff like that." My face relaxes and my shoulders slump forward. Judging by his tone when he says, "But as long as you're not seeing stuff like that, we should be fine," he doesn't notice my reaction. He takes a deep breath as he returns his attention to the rain hitting the water in front of us. "Hopefully, we'll find Regina before tomorrow, and somehow, convince her your parents aren't divorcing. I think us being here is affecting everyone, somehow, making them hate each other."

I don't respond and he doesn't say anything else. Instead, we sit for a few beats, listening to the rain meeting the creek in loud plops. The water rises and sweeps mud off the foot part of our boots. He runs his hands up and down his knees like a parent before they excuse themselves from someone's house, then he stands up, and it's like I suddenly found my voice.

"What does it mean if we see things that aren't there," I ask after he steps back in the mud.

"I don't really know," he says with his attention on his shoes. He scrapes and scrapes the left against the log to remove chunks from between the cracks at the bottom of his boot. "I assumed it was the timeline bending because, like I said, I mentioned things that hadn't happened yet."

"So, what's up with you and Troy," Regina asks me. I turn my narrowed eyes toward her, and my chin hits my shoulder.

"What do you mean?" She snickers at my question, like the answer is obvious.

"I don't know. You two were sitting close to each other, and he was real quiet, like he was shy or something," she says with a smile.

"Oh," I mumble, my eyes returning to the ceiling. She mocks me, then chuckles. "He's upset with me." When she asks why, I tell her, "I got angry at him for telling Dad your boyfriend's name, and I lashed out when we were by ourselves."

"Was it because you thought I'd get mad at you?" I tug my mouth to the side and shrug. She turns onto her side and props her elbow on her pillow with her head in her hand. She's quiet for a while, thinking, then she asks in a lower voice, "Do you like him," and I shrug again.

"I just feel like he won't talk to me now, so I might as well just, like, move on." She pulls her lips into a line and narrows her eyes.

"Or," she says, dragging it. "I could call Khadijah when we wake up and have her call his brother." I turn my head toward her, scrunching my forehead. I ask her why, and she shrugs, then says, "Maybe me doing things for you will make you trust me enough to tell me who you are." I don't respond. She cracks a smile, and her eyes dim. She turns her back to me and reaches over to shut off her lamp, then whispers, "Goodnight."