Dad stops his station wagon at the curb in front of Tommy's cousin's house. The porch lights are on, and moths swarm around the bulbs. No other lights are on inside the house. Even the neighborhood is dark and quiet, other than the occasional dog barking at another from a block away.

"This is it," Troy mumbles, then takes a deep breath. Dad shuts off the engine and tucks the keys in his pocket. "This is where he lives."

Dad noticed Troy acting sad when we got in the car. Like before, he was sitting behind the driver's seat, Keenan was behind the passenger's side, and I was in the middle. When Dad asked him what was wrong, Keenan told him what I said to Troy. I wanted to jab him in the side with my elbow.

Dad gave me a stern look, and I felt like I was melting in my seat, then he looked at Troy and invited him to sit up front. It's not fair. I'm supposed to be his daughter, so shouldn't he let me sit up front?

I didn't say anything about it; I didn't feel like I'd be listened to.

"Sir, can I stay in the car?" Dad glances at Troy and nods.

"Wait, so he drags us out here and won't even go in to make sure it's him," I ask with my eyebrows lowered. Keenan cuts his eyes at me, Troy turns to stare further through the window, and Dad glares at me over his shoulder.

"Leila, one more word out of you and you'll be in your room for a month! No TV, no nothing," Dad tells me, his voice firm and loud. My shoulders slump forward and I drop my eyes onto my hands. "Do you understand me?"

"Okay, yes, I understand," I whine without looking up. Out of my peripheral, I watch Keenan shake his head at me. I mumble, "There's nothing fun to do around here or in the house anyway."

"What?" I lift my head and let it fall back until my hair is pressed against the top of my seat.

I groan as I say, "Nothing," and then I look at the reflection of his eyes staring at me. "I'm just asking if we can go already."

Dad doesn't say anything. He just watches me with no emotion in his eyes that I can read. I furrow my eyebrows at him. His mouth is shut and his face is relaxed. It's like he's thinking.

He snickers and it sounds like he blew a breath out of his nose. His body jolts back from the action. Then, within the blink of an eye, he curls one end of his mouth and lets the smile drop.

As he turns to his door, his nostrils flare and I glance at Keenan. He's watching the whole thing too; his expression is the same as mine.

Keenan slowly opens his door while staring at my dad. I scoot across the seat to follow him out of the station wagon, and they shut their doors at the same time.

Dad steps around the front, and we watch him continue up the path. Standing next to the door behind the passenger's side, Keenan takes my hand without looking at me. I turn my head to him, my jaw slightly dropped.

"Leila, before we go in there, we need to talk." I turn to him. The rain slowed a while ago, leaving what feels like a sprinkler falling on our hats and hoods.

"What?" He takes a deep breath with his eyes closed, then opens them to stare into mine. He licks his lips, then pulls them into a straight line for a second.

"I don't even know how to say this," he says, and I furrow my eyebrows. He's silent for a few more breaths. "Do you get in trouble often?" I look toward the house without shifting my head or relaxing my face. What kind of question is that? "I'm asking because the way you spoke to your dad is unlike most kids your age." He glances at the passenger's window and catches Troy staring at him. Troy quickly turns his head forward. As if he can hear us, Keenan says, "Our age."

I tug him further onto the yard, putting no less than six feet of distance between us and Troy.

"With my real parents? No—but with these people," I pause, then look toward Dad. He's on the porch, raising his tight fist to knock below the three square-shaped diagonal windows. "It's like I constantly do and say everything wrong."

"Then maybe it's best that you keep your slick comments to yourself." I shut my eyes, and slowly turn my head to Keenan, opening them at the same pace. "I mean no disrespect, but we're supposed to be gone tomorrow, and we don't wanna cause anymore—issues."

"I get it," I mumble, honestly. As I lower my attention to the bits of flowers between the gravel, I take a deep breath through my nose. It's been a long day; I'm tired and partly annoyed with everyone. I wish Regina would've chosen some other time to run away from home instead of doing it in the middle of the night.

"Yeah," he drags the word. I look at his scrunched-up face. It's like he either doesn't believe me or is surprised. He takes his hand off mine to set it on the back of his neck. "Plus, I don't know what type of disciplinarian he is," he says, and I make a face at him too. "So, it's best to not push him."

I tilt my head and ask, "What's a disciplinarian?" Then he narrows his eyes at me. He takes a breath, about to speak, but Dad interrupts.

"Leila, Keenan, get over here," he yells in a whisper, but as if he used his regular volume, multiple dogs begin barking and howling. We look at him, and he widens his eyes with his mouth open and his head tilted.

Keenan brings his eyes to me and says in a low, but firm tone, "Just stay quiet and let me do the talking."

Any other day, I'd say something sarcastic, but tonight, I'm exhausted and overwhelmed.

I trudge behind him and cross my arms. The breeze is rustling trees and distant wind chimes, sending out a high-pitched song that catches my attention more than the moths do. If I were alone, I'd feel afraid, because an out-of-sync melody like this is eerie at night.

We stand behind Dad right when the door opens. A dark-skinned guy who looks around Michelle's age is standing there in a long t-shirt, sweatpants, and socks. He has bags under his barely open eyes and smells like he hasn't put on deodorant in weeks.

"Can I help you?" His voice is deep but clear, despite dragging his words. He sounds like he either just woke up or is tired.

"Is Regina here," Dad asks in a blunt tone. I glance at the back of his head, then at the dark-brown eyes flickering from one of us to the other.

"Who's asking?" By his laid-back attitude and flat tone, he doesn't seem to mean it disrespectfully. Dad doesn't think so.

"Her father," he says, the last word as forceful as a punch. He looks Dad up and down, then cuts his eyes at Keenan. He steps aside with the doorknob in hand, staring Dad in the face.

"She's upstairs, asleep." Dad pushes past him before he can finish. We watch him race up the stairs like a fire broke out, and he's off to save Regina.

The guy exhales hard, then shuts the door behind us. Keenan and I stand in the entryway, but only he looks around. He walks further into the house, his eyes landing on every piece of furniture and framed picture. It looks like I skip when I take a step after him. I follow him, and my arms fall to my sides.

"You two want some' to drink," he asks as he strolls around us. We stop in front of the stairs, facing the living room. "We got Hug Juices, Coca-Cola, and Kool-Aid," he droned on.

I want a Piña Colada Hug Juice, but knowing Keenan, he'll probably give me a look and shake his head. So, to be sure, I look at him. He's still scanning the room like something will jump out at him, and I roll my eyes. I nudge him with my elbow while the guy opens the fridge.

"Can I get something to drink," I ask in a low voice when he finally looks at me. I didn't think his face could go sour any more than it had. Then he scrunches up his forehead.

He whispers back, "Leila, I don't care," then walks away from me. I twist my mouth to the side as he sits on one of the couches.

"I'll have a--" We all flinch and whip our heads to the staircase when glass breaks upstairs. There's silence, and with each second, my heart beats faster and faster.

Dad and Regina bend the corner and stomp down the stairs. He's standing over her shoulder, yelling at her, and she just shakes her head with an angry expression. He tells her, "And in my fifteen years of raising you, I've never heard you speak the way that you did or do the things that you do."

"Maybe you didn't hear it because you never listen," she mumbles. He blinks hard and jerks his head back at the same time. Keenan and I share a glance, and he slowly stands up, like he's afraid that if he moves too fast, they'll direct their anger at him.

She steps onto the first floor, then rolls her eyes onto Dad when he asks, "What'd you say?" He steps beside her and she turns to face him, folding her arms.

"Dad, I'm not going home." Keenan approaches us with his hands behind his back and his eyes flicking from her to Dad.

"Like hell, you aren't," Dad says, wrinkling his nose like he smells something bad. Regina relaxes her face, but there's a deadness in her eyes. She stares past us, focusing on the space where her friends danced a few nights ago. "Your mother is worried, and so is everyone else who spent hours searching for you."

"Well, I didn't ask them to look for me," she says in a flat tone without looking at him. Keenan drops his jaw and his eyes bounce between them at a faster pace.

Dad flares his nostrils. His eye twitches, and his jaw flexes. Even though the small amount of gentleness in his eyes faded to black, she doesn't seem to care. When he gave me a look for how I treated Troy, I felt sick. He's giving her an even worse one, yet she's standing here with her chin raised.

"Gina, why won't you come home," I ask to break the tension, but it doesn't work. She looks at me, then scoffs and scans me up and down.

"You brought her here?" My shoulders and eyebrows drop. Keenan glances at me, then watches her turn her head to Dad. "I'm not talking to any of you."

She walks toward the living room, and Dad yells her name but she doesn't stop. My chest feels like an elephant is laying on it, and now I have to remember to breathe. I stare at her braids, wrapped in a tight low bun. She's not wearing any makeup or jewelry, just a plain shirt and flannel pants.

It's hard to believe that this is Regina—the confident and loud girl who pestered me for answers I couldn't give.

"Uncle Joseph," Keenan quickly says, throwing his hand out when Dad takes a step toward her. He looks down at him, and Keenan lowers his voice to tell him, "Maybe I should talk to her. I can figure out what's going on, and convince her to get in the car."

Dad stares at his daughter. She sits where Keenan was and stares out of the window overlooking the backyard. His face relaxes after a few moments, and he takes a deep breath. He nods at Keenan, and says, "Just come outside when you're done; I'll be in the car."

We turn our heads to watch him leave. The guy is standing at the open fridge, holding a plastic cup of water and watching us. It has cartoon characters painted along the side, but he's holding it like it doesn't bother him.

My eyes return to Keenan, and his are on Regina. He walks toward her and I follow close behind. I stop when he does, and I drop my head when she looks at us.

"What the fuck do you want, Keenan?" He clenches his jaw, like he's forcing himself to ignore her comment. He takes a deep breath.

"I wanna talk to you." He sits beside her, and she scoots further away from him. "Why're you upset?"

"Oh, Leila didn't tell you," she asks, but it sounds like a statement. She sets a hand on her chest and raises her eyebrows, speaking in a way that sounds like she's giving sad news. "Our parents are getting a divorce." She and I lock eyes for a moment. I turn to a faint thud coming from the kitchen. He's carrying the cup of water to the stairs after shutting the fridge. "I'm actually surprised the blabbermouth didn't say anything to you about it." I whip my face forward when she says that, and her cold demeanor doesn't change. She tells him, "Maybe it's because it's her fault they hate each other, and she wouldn't tell anything that makes her look bad," and all of the air releases through my nose. My shoulders are slumped and my back is slouched.

I feel like a deflated balloon person.

"That's not true," I tell her, my voice cracking and shaking. I knew this whole thing was a bad idea, but no one listened to me. We should've let her cool off and come home when she felt like it, but these people only want things their way and on their time.

"Shut up," she yells, and I squeeze my arms closer to my body. This reminds me of the dodgeball game that one Friday. I froze in fear and anticipation, watching Melissa throw the ball at me. "I don't even know why you're here. You couldn't give a damn about me if someone paid you." She stands up but doesn't approach me. Keenan's sitting between us, with me to his left and her on his right. Regina looks down at him. "And you, Keenan, I'm surprised you remembered you have another cousin. For months, you spent more time with Leila than you have with me."

"Well, I'm here now, Gina." She furrows her eyebrows at him, and her mouth falls slightly open.

"You've never called me that before," she says in a low voice. "It's always Regina. The one time you gave me a nickname—GiGi—was when you were a kid."

I widen my eyes without thinking, then quickly dim them. Keenan smiles with his top row of teeth and says, "Well, you don't usually go off on me. I guess we're both acting different."

Regina narrows her eyes in thought, staring at him for a few beats. She turns her head toward me, and I bow my head to look at my rain boots. She scoffs, then tilts her head at him. I watch her eyes slant, and her once-scrunched face grows a genuine smile.

She asks, "Keenan, what year were you born," with a higher-pitched voice, like she's seconds from bursting into laughter, or she's skeptical of him. The smile on his face fades despite his attempts to pull the corners of his mouth up.

"Why?" He forces himself to chuckle. She shrugs and pouts her lips with that look still on her face. "You're two years older than us. Shouldn't you know?"

"I know Keenan and Leila were born a week apart," Regina says, then lowers herself to sit on the coffee table facing him. My nostrils flare with each breath, and my eyes widen again, but this time I can't stop it. My heart pounds so hard and loud, that it sounds like an off-beat drummer in my ears. "But as for you two, I'm not sure."

"Regina, what're you talking about?" He chuckles once more, and she smirks. She straightens her posture and crosses her arms, one leg over the other.

"You two aren't from here. Leila told me everything." My heart skips a beat, then drops into my stomach. Keenan tugs his eyes off her to look at me, and my legs wobble under the long skirt. "So, since she's a compulsive liar and I trust you, how about you fill in the gaps? Let's start with what year you're from."