I only got a little bit of sleep last night. My dad being there sort of helped me, but it also just confused me and gave my brain one more thing to think about instead of going to sleep. I couldn't stop worrying about Sophia, either. I really hope my dad finds her today. We're all going out to look. Except for Dale and T-Dog because T-Dog hurt his arm real bad yesterday and Dale's fixing the RV.

I'm sitting on the ground by the wheel of the RV, trying to read that book about birds again. I can't seem to figure out this one word. I'm trying to sound it out, but it's confusing me. Lucky for me, my dad walks past me.

"Dad," I say, standing up. He flinches a little, hearing my voice. I don't think he saw me sitting down there. He turns to me and I hold up the book and point to the word I can't read. "What's that say?" I ask him.

But he doesn't read the word to me. Instead, he takes the book right outta my hands. "I been lookin' for you. You eat anythin' yet?" he asks as he folds down the corner of the page and closes the bird book shut.

I think about lying for a second because he's probably gonna make me eat something I don't like, but if I lie, he'll probably be able to tell. Or he'll figure it out. He almost always does. So, I tell the truth. "No," I say, shaking my head.

"C'mon then," Dad says, grabbing my arm and pulling me up to my feet. We start walking over to the car Lori's digging around in. When we get there, Dad pulls me in front of him and puts his hands on my shoulders, holding me still. "You got any a' those breakfast bars left?" Dad asks Lori.

Lori looks over at us and nods. "Yeah, of course," she says. She opens a bag and starts digging around in it. "I bet you're hungry, huh? You didn't even have anything at the CDC yesterday," she says. My dad didn't know that, apparently. He looks down at me and raises his eyebrows in a stern way. I turn my head away and look at the ground, because that look kinda makes me feel a little anxious. "Here," Lori says, holding out the breakfast bar.

I look at it for a moment, but I don't take it just yet. "What kind is it?" I ask.

"I think it's blueberry," Lori tells me.

Blueberries are another food I don't like, but I don't wanna be rude and tell her I don't like blueberry breakfast bars, so I say, "No thanks. I'm allergic to blueberries."

"No, you're not," Dad says, snatching the breakfast bar outta Lori's hand. He gives me another glare and we start walking back to the car we slept in last night. "You're gonna have to get used to eatin' shit you don't like, June," he tells me.

"But I'm not hungry," I say.

"Yes, you are," Dad argues.

"Not for blueberry breakfast bars," I tell him. That'll probably make him mad, but I'm trying to figure out what's going on with him. He's confusing me lately.

"You're gonna eat it, anyway," Dad says, forcing the breakfast bar into my hands. He grabs his crossbow from the back of the car when we get to it. "I want you to stay in Dale's sight when I'm gone," he says to me.

And, immediately, without even thinking, I say, "What? I'm goin' with."

Dad scoffs. "No, you're not," he says, like it's funny. But it ain't funny. I want to help find Sophia. The more people out there looking, the better.

"I am," I say bravely, looking up at him like I mean it. I'm sure I'm making him mad, but I don't care. Because this is important. Sophia could die. She needs our help. "Carl's goin'," I tell Dad, hoping it'll help my case.

"I don't give a shit what Carl's doin'. I only have a say in what you're doin', and I say you're stayin' here. Don't need another lil' girl gettin' lost," Dad says as he's checking the amount of bullets in his pistol.

"Better me than her," I argue, crossing my arms. I hardly ever argue with my dad. I only do it when it's something really important.

My dad's head snaps towards me, and I think I've really made him mad. "Hell you just say?" he asks me, his eyes angry.

"Better me bein' lost than her. She doesn't know what she's doin'. Plus, Carol really needs her. She was cryin' all night," I explain, shrugging my shoulders. It seems pretty obvious to me. Mommas need their daughters. That's why my momma was so sad when they took her away. 'Cause I barely ever got to see her after that.

Dad's doing that thing where he stares at me for a few moments, thinking real hard. I bet he's deciding whether or not to give me a spankin' for talking back. After a few moments, he finally says something. "I hear you say somethin' stupid like that again, I will smack you. I don't give a shit if I ain't done it before. I will. Hear me, girl?" Dad says, his voice stern and angry.

I keep my eyebrows furrowed, despite the nervousness that's bubbling around in my stomach. I'm brave. I'm really, really brave. I cross my arms and stand tall. "I'm comin' with," I say, my voice firm 'cause I really mean it.

"No, you're not. You're gonna sit your ass down and eat that fuckin' breakfast bar and read your fuckin' bird book," Dad tells me. He's getting real irritated now. I'm probably one more word away from a spankin', but I don't care. I wanna see if he'll really do it. He ain't done it since Merle's been gone, and he's been acting weird.

"I don't want it," I say, glaring real hard and mean.

"I don't give a shit. You haven't eaten nothin' for two days, Juniper. It's all we got. You're gonna stop bein' a brat and eat the damn food, or I'mma give you a spankin'," Dad warns. He's holding back from screaming at me. I can always tell when he is. If we were at home, behind closed doors, I bet he'd already be screaming. I bet he'd already have given me the spankin'.

Maybe it's the hunger that's making me so stupid, or maybe I'm just mad. But I don't stop there. I keep going. I look him right in the eyes, knowing it'll make him mad, as I say, "I'd rather starve to death than eat tha-"

And then smack! My dad's hand slaps me right across the cheek, real hard. He holds his pointer finger right in front of my face, and I'm looking up at him with wide, watery eyes. My lungs are hardly working and my throat is clogged with a ball of tears. 

"I don't wanna hear one more word 'bout you dyin', Juniper Jo Dixon. You don't say shit like that. Ever," Dad says.

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I'm sorry," I say very, very quickly. I didn't think he'd ever hit me like that. Merle did. Dad only got mad at him for it sometimes. But he always got really mad if Grandpa did it. I don't know what the difference was. Especially now that my dad has done it, too.

"Good. I don't wanna hear you talk like that again," Dad says. He's still giving me that stern look, but he doesn't sound so angry anymore

"I won't. Promise," I tell him. My eyes are watering and my cheek stings, but I'm trying really hard not to cry. I keep reminding myself, in my head, stop being a crybaby. "I just- I don't-" Oh, gosh, I'm stumbling over my words now, "Eatin' blueberries makes me feel like I'mma barf, Daddy. I really don't like 'em."

"You pro'lly feel like you're gonna barf 'cause you ain't eatin' enough. People are gonna think I'm starvin' ya, girl. So eat," Dad says. He snatches the breakfast bar outta my hands and peels off the wrapper before hanging it back. "Now, please, Juniper," he tells me.

I stare down at the breakfast bar in my hand. It's got flakes on top. I hate flakes. I hate seeds even more, though. I hope it don't got seeds on the inside.

When I look up at my dad again, I see he's staring at me with his arms crossed. He's waiting for me to eat it. He knows me too well. He knows that, if he leaves, I ain't really gonna eat it.

He used to do this at home. There'd be something on my plate he knows I don't like, like steamed broccoli or something, and I'd be sitting at the table eating around it. But Dad would sit there and he'd set that timer on the microwave and he would make sure I ate it. Unless I started going way past the timer, 'cause then he'd send me to bed hungry. I'd choose to go to bed hungry most of the time.

"June," Dad says, his tone tense in warning. I sigh and take a small bite of the breakfast bar. My face goes sour. I hate it. "Good girl. Finish it," Dad says, patting my back.

And even though I hate it with everything I got, I take another bite outta the breakfast bar. Then another.

"I don't like it," I murmur, scrunching my face up. The flakes are getting stuck on my teeth and they don't match the texture of the rest of the breakfast bar and I hate it.

"I know, baby, but you gotta eat it, anyway," Dad tells me. And now I feel confused again because he just hit me, but now he's calling me baby. How can he be so cruel and so kind at the same time?

"I wanna help find Sophia, Dad," I say before taking another bite. He takes a breath- an annoyed breath. "I'm eatin' my food now. Can't I come with? I'm doin' what you said, Dad."

"It ain't about that, June. It's about keepin' you safe. I've told you a thousand times. All that matters is that you-"

"That I keep breathin', I know. But I'll keep breathin' even if I do go with. I'll be safe. I'll stay by you. Promise," I try.

"No. You're gonna stay with Dale," Dad tells me. He turns away, heading towards Rick and the others.

"Dad," I say. My heart's beating fast. Today my dad did something I never thought he'd do, and that was hit me on my face. I'm thinking, or maybe hoping, that he'll say something he almost never says. And that he'll say it because he means it, not because he's drunk. "I love you," I tell him.

"Yeah. Be safe, June," Dad tells me. My heart breaks a little bit on the inside. Feels like a little piece of it broke off and dropped down into my belly, and it's weighing me down.

"Ok," I murmur. Dad walks off with the rest of the group; everyone except for T-Dog, Dale, and I. I throw the rest of the breakfast bar down on the ground and smush it with my shoe, and then I kick it beneath the car so Dad won't see it.

I am a crybaby. I feel like crying just because my dad said be safe instead of I love you. It basically just means the same thing. It means I care about you. But it hurts me. I don't know why, but it hurts me.

"June," Dale's voice calls over to me. I look up from the smushed breakfast bar and see him standing by the door of the RV. He beckons me over to him, so I grab the bird book off of the seat and start walking to him. "I need someone to keep watch while I'm fixing up the RV. Do you mind?" Dale asks, handing me the binoculars.

"I don't mind," I say with my shaky, little voice as I use my shoulder to dry away the tears in my wet eyes. I take the binoculars and start climbing up the ladder.

"June," Dale's voice stops me again. I pause halfway up the ladder and look down at him. "Are you alright?" Dale asks. Sometimes he can read my mind, too. Just like my dad.

But still, I tell him, "I'm okay."

"Are you sure? Your face is a bit red," Dale says. He reaches his hand up and touches his cheek, showing me where my face is red.

"Yes, sir. It's just... real hot out," I lie.

I know most people don't like how people like my dad treat their kids. I ain't blind and I ain't stupid. I saw the strange way people looked at me when I showed up at school with a bruise on my cheek from Merle, or how they'd look at my dad if they overheard him threatening a spankin' at the grocery store.

But I also know that I don't wanna get taken from my dad. My momma was taken from the both of us- me and my dad- so I know how it feels. If I got taken from my daddy for something as silly as a little smack every once in a while, then we'd both be hurting way worse than a slap on the cheek hurt. I don't want that.

And even though the cops ain't around no more to take me away, I know other people will still find a way to take me from my dad.

Maybe Rick. He's a cop- or he used to be. Or maybe Shane. They'd act all high and mighty, I bet. Like cops always do. They'd act like they know better. They'd act like my dad's a bad person. But he's not. I know he's not.

When I get all the way to the top of the RV, I sit down on the edge and keep a lookout. As I'm sitting here, keeping an eye out for walkers, I'm thinking about Jacqui. Jacqui died at the CDC. She didn't want to leave. She stayed and died with Dr. Jenner. Andrea wanted to do the same thing, but Dale wouldn't let her. I heard them arguing about it earlier. 

I don't understand why or how any would want that. Even when you lose people, there's no telling if you'll find more people who you'll love just as much in the future. There's no point in giving up now. You've got years and years ahead of you. There's always a chance that it might get a little bit better. Maybe it won't get better, but maybe you'll find people who make it worth it. And, even if you don't think anyone would miss you, someone always would. Even people you barely even know. 

There was a boy who lived in the same neighborhood as me. His name was Jay. When I was seven, he was sixteen, and when I was eight, he was dead. I used to see him practicing skateboard tricks in his driveway. When he saw me, he'd wave at me. I never talked to him, but I'd wave back, anyway. I guess people were real mean to him at school. He died because of it. 

I didn't know, at first. I just thought that maybe he got bored of skateboarding and that was why he was never out in his driveway no more. But the next year, his momma came to my school and talked to us all about bullying. She talked about Jay. She said that Jay died because so many people were bullying him that he couldn't take it no more. 

When Jay's momma was done talking, I asked my teacher if I could go and tell her something, and my teacher said yes. So I told Jay's momma that I watched Jay practice skateboard tricks in the driveway sometimes and that he'd wave to me and that I always thought he was a very nice boy. I told her I'm sorry he's gone and I'll miss him, too. She gave me a hug and said, Thank you, baby, and then I went back to my class. 

Point is, I didn't really know Jay. I don't know if he even knew my name. But I still miss him and I still think about him sometimes. Because even people you barely know will miss you when you're gone. 

I miss Jacqui. I miss Jim. I miss Merle. I miss Jay. 

I hope I don't gotta miss Sophia any time soon. 

I'm still keeping watch, but it's getting really boring. I walk over to the other side of the RV and look over the edge. Dale's not standing there fixing the RV like I thought he'd be. He's sitting down in a lawn chair and reading a book. 

T-Dog seems to notice this, too. "Ain't you supposed to be fixing that radiator?" T-Dog asks him. I look over the edge, watching and listening, because I'm curious, too. "What if they come back with Sophia and Rick wants to move on right away?" he asks. 

Dale looks up from his book and hesitates for a moment before saying, "I had it fixed yesterday."

"Really?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows. Dale looks up at me, and then at T-Dog, and then he nods. 

"What was all that rubbin' and sandin' for then? That's just bullshit?" T-Dog asks, confused. I'm confused, too. I really thought Dale was still working. But he's just reading a book.

"Yeah, that's one word. Another word would be pantomime- just for show," Dale says, and now I've learned a new word. "No one else needs to know that. If the others know we're mobile, they'll want to mobilize and move on."

"Not until we find Sophia," I chime. No way we're going anywhere without Sophia. She doesn't know enough to survive in the woods all by herself. She knows a lot, like how to multiply and divide big numbers and how to read real big words. But that won't keep her alive in the woods. 

"That's exactly right, June," Dale says, nodding his head. 

"So you don't think they're gonna find Sophia. That it?" T-Dog asks Dale. 

"No. I'm just guarding against the worst," Dale says. We are going to find Sophia. I know we are. We gotta. And my dad's the best tracker in the whole world. He's gonna find her. I know he is. "Sooner or later, if she's not found, people will start doing math. I wanna hold off the needs-of-the-many-versus-the-needs-of-the-few arguments as long as I can," Dale explains. 

"That is one tricky hose, huh?" T-Dog says.

"Very," Dale says, nodding his head. 

"Why do I gotta keep watch if you're not fixin' the RV?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. I don't mind keeping watch, but Dale usually likes to do it himself.

Dale just shrugs a little. "Thought you might need something to do," he says. He's right. I think I need something to do, too. So I just nod and go back to keeping watch.