"Hey," my dad's voice right by my ear wakes me up.

My eyelids feel heavy, but I hold them open anyway. Once my vision clears up, I see that I'm lying next to my dad in bed, and my head's leaning back against his shoulder, and he's got his arm around my back. Last time I woke up like this, Dad was still asleep, and when he did wake up, he got away from me as quickly as he could. Not now, though. Now he presses a kiss to my hairline.

He doesn't usually do that. Kissing me, I mean. Not unless he's drunk or if I'm crying real hard and he wants me to stop.

I remember one time, when I was nine, Dad went out drinking with some of the guys he worked with. He didn't like drinking at home. Merle was supposed to be babysitting me, but he got bored of that after about an hour. He tried to just leave me home alone, but I cried and told him I was scared to be home alone at night time. Really, though, I just knew that Dad would get mad at him for leaving, so I didn't want him to leave.

The only difference that made, though, was that Merle decided to drop me off at Grandpa Will's house. I knew that would only make Dad even angrier, but there was nothing I could do about it because Merle never listened to me.

I was at Grandpa's, sitting like a statue on the living room couch, for about twenty minutes before Dad showed up. He was really drunk that night. He probably shouldn't have been driving, but he did.

Grandpa only hit me once before Dad got there, and it was because Merle told him about me crying and saying I was scared. I only had a little bruise on my cheek, but Dad was drunk, so he got really mad.

Dad was yelling at Grandpa, and then Grandpa punched him hard. Don't you yell at me, ya piece a' shit! I'm your fuckin' father!

You keep your hands off my kid! And then Dad hit Grandpa back, even harder.

They kept hitting each other until I couldn't take it no more and shouted Dad, stop! I wanna go home! Stop it!

After that, Dad finally stopped, picked me up, and walked us out the front door. Grandpa kept shouting, following us out the door. Yeah, ya lil' pussy! Get the fuck outta here!

That night, when we got home, Dad got a beer from the fridge and sat on the couch, and he didn't tell me to go to bed when I put Aladdin into the DVD player. He let me watch it, and he watched it with me. And he kissed my head that night and I fell asleep on the couch.

The next day, me and Dad and Grandpa all had matching bruises on our cheeks.

Anyway, I sit up and scoot a little bit away from Dad. He doesn't seem to notice. If he does, he doesn't say anything about it.

"You gotta get up and have some breakfast, June," he tells me, smoothing my hair over.

After my childish little meltdown last night, Dad read me the bird book until Hershel came in and told me he thought it was safe for me to get some rest. I was really relieved because I kept dozing off while my dad was reading and he kept having to nudge me awake. I guess I just fell asleep while Dad continued reading.

He's changing, my dad. And I'm not sure how or why.

"T-Dog's cookin' up some eggs outside-"

"I'm not hungry," I interrupt. I don't like eggs.

"-or Maggie said you could have anythin' they've got in the kitchen. Doesn't gotta be eggs, but you gotta eat somethin'," Dad continues on, anyway. He's not falling for the I'm not hungry lie no more. Not after Hershel told him that I'm malnourished.

"What about a popsicle? Am I allowed to have a popsicle for breakfast?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. I'm tryna get him to admit to his lie. I know he don't really mean I can have whatever I want for breakfast.

But Dad just shrugs. "If they got one," he tells me.

I furrow my eyebrows with confusion. "What about a cookie?" I test.

"I thought you don't like cookies," Dad says, raising an eyebrow at me.

Dang it. He knows me too well. Cookies make me feel sick. They're too thick and chewy. Gets stuck in my teeth. Except Oreos. Oreos are good. They aren't so chewy. Chips Ahoy, though? Nuh-uh. "What if I did like cookies?" I ask, anyway.

"Then I'd say as long as you're gettin' food in your belly," Dad tells me. I can't even believe a word outta his mouth. No way he'd let me have a cookie for breakfast.

"Can I have pasta for breakfast?" I ask. This one ain't a test. I really do want pasta for breakfast.

"If that's what you want," Dad tells me, nodding his head. That really is what I want. And I actually am quite hungry right now, so I shoot up outta bed. "Aye! Take it easy, girl. Don't go runnin' 'round no more. Not 'til your head's better," Dad scolds, sitting himself up, too.

I nod, but I don't apologize like I would have before. He don't deserve my sorry's, even if he does let me have pasta for breakfast. He should be the one saying sorry to me. And that one lame sorry he told me yesterday don't me crap, 'cause he ain't really mean it. He just felt bad that I got shot. Plus, one little apology don't make up for the past five years I've been wasting on him.

Good news is, my head ain't spinning no more. Dad's still limping, though. When I go bounding into the kitchen, he comes after me sluggishly. I don't see Maggie, though. And she's the professional pasta maker.

"Where's Maggie?" I ask Dad, pinching my eyebrows together.

"Maybe outside. Let's go on out there, anyway. Wanna get back to the tent," Dad tells me, putting his hand on my shoulder and lightly pushing me towards the front door as if I don't know where the front door is myself.

When we get outside, everyone starts smiling at me. They feel bad that I got shot, too. But Andrea feels the worst. She's looking at her shoes. I look up at Dad and see that he's glaring at her, so I jab him in the side with my elbow.

"Watch yourself, Juniper Dixon," Dad tells me, giving me a stern look. He doesn't actually look that angry, though. Looks like he wants to laugh at me, for whatever reason. Guess he ain't used to me standing up to him. Bet I look a bit pathetic.

"Stop bein' mean to Andrea. It was an accident," I say with a glare.

"She shot you."

"On accident."

"Chick needs to lower her ego, anyway."

"You need to lower your ego," I say, crossing my arms. I don't really know what ego means, though.

Dad scoffs out a laugh. Don't know why he's letting me talk to him like this, but he is. He points over at Maggie, who's talking to Glenn. "Look. Why don't you go ask her to make you somethin'? I'mma go back to the tent," he says. He's limping even worse, now. I think his leg needs more rest.

I don't like asking for things, but I say, "'Kay," anyway. I start heading towards Maggie, and as I pass by Andrea, she tells me she's sorry, but I tell I ain't mad at all. I also see Rick, Shane, Glenn, and Beth's boyfriend. Glenn's acting weird and awkward, but I'm not sure why.

But the most surprising thing I see is Carl, standing right over by the RV. I take a detour, deciding I'll talk to Maggie after I talk to Carl. So over to Carl, I go. "You're up!" I exclaim as I get to him.

He smiles. He's wearing his Dad's hat. "I heard you got shot, too," he says.

"Yeah, but not nearly as bad as you," I say, shrugging my shoulders. I just don't want no one feeling bad for me. It ain't a big deal.

"Still. Now we can both say we've been shot before," Carl says, laughing a little. I laugh, too. It is a cool story, I suppose. Or it would be, maybe if Dad weren't so angry about it. "Hey, you wanna see something cool?" Carl asks me. I nod and his smile grows wider. We walk around to the other side of the RV, for some reason. Then, he lifts the bottom of his shirt and says, "Check it out."

And now I'm staring at the little revolver tucked right into his waistband. My eyes go wide, and then my hands shoot up to cover my eyes. "Carl, I can't keep secrets," I whisper-shout at him. Oh, the guilt's filling me up already.

"Well, you have to keep this one. I thought you could teach me how to use it," Carl says. He thought I could teach him? What's this kid thinking?! "You've used guns before, haven't you?" he asks me.

"Only with my dad right there beside me! And never a revolver! I couldn't teach ya how to use that thing even if I wanted to!" I exclaim.

"Shhh! You're gonna get me caught," Carl says. Oh, boy. This kid definitely ain't afraid of getting in trouble. Maybe his parents don't spank him for stuff like this. Maybe not for anything. That's probably why he ain't afraid to test the limits. "I'll just ask Shane to teach me," Carl decides.

"Carl," I groan, covering up my face with my hands. It sounds more like Cah-rul, though, because I stretched out the whole word to get the point across that I'm annoyed. "I'm a snitch, Carl. I really am," I warn him.

"You can't tell," he says once again.

"If you get caught, and they find out I knew and didn't tell no one, I'mma get a spankin'," I huff, dropping my hands down from my face so that I can cross my arms.

I know my dad said he ain't gonna do that no more, but I don't believe him. How could I believe him? He's been doing it my whole dang life. What would make him change his mind now? He's done this before- thinking about it too hard and deciding not to hit me for a few weeks, only to change his mind when I did something really bad. This is something really bad.

"Your dad spanks you?" Carl asks, his eyebrows shooting up.

"Yeah. Time-outs never worked, I guess," I say, shrugging my shoulders.

"Oh.... Isn't that, like, illegal?" Carl murmurs.

Again, I shrug. I don't really know, to be honest. "Not unless it leaves a mark, I don't think," I guess. Merle and Grandpa have left marks on me before, but not that often. Grandpa barely ever got to see me, and Merle only did it if I made him really mad. But they didn't get arrested for it because I just told my teachers a lie if they asked about it. 'Cause my momma already went to jail. I didn't want Merle or Grandpa Will to have to go, too.

"Well, I promise I won't tell them I told you," Carl says, giving a firm nod to express the point that he really, truly means it.

"Ok," I say, nodding my head, too.

Then, "June!"

My dad. Great. "What?!" I shout, peeking my head around the RV. Dad's in the tent, now, peaking out from the door.

"Food! How many times I gotta tell you, girl?!" he hollers back at me. Not angry, but playful, for some reason.

"I'm goin'!" I shout with a huff. I turn to Carl again. "See ya later, Carl," I say, giving him a fake, see-ya-later-type smile. He returns it and I walk off to find Maggie. When I finally find her, she's starting to head back up to the house. "Maggie!" I call out to her, making her stop and spin around to look at me. "Can I please have some pasta?" I ask her, wringing my hands together behind my back.

"Pasta? For breakfast?" she asks with raised eyebrows, slightly amused. I shrug, looking down at my cowboy boots. "I'll make you some pasta. Don't worry. Sometimes I crave burgers for breakfast," Maggie says with a smile. She pats my back. "I've got your skirt cleaned inside, if you want it."

At first, my smile grows wide because I love that skirt and I'm glad it ain't ruined. But then my smile fades. "Nah, it's ok. My daddy don't like it, anyway," I tell her.

"Well, one thing I've found 'bout your daddy is that he's a damn fool. Come on inside and get dressed," Maggie says.

And even though I know my dad won't like this, I follow Maggie up the porch steps inside. She gives me the skirt and lets me choose from a few t-shirts. I choose one with Tinkerbell on it.

When me and my dad watched Tinkerbell, he said she was alright. But when me and my dad and Uncle Merle watched Peter Pan, Merle said Tinkerbell was a whore and Dad didn't exactly disagree. He just told Merle to watch his mouth around me 'cause I was only six at the time. I don't tell Maggie that story because I'm not supposed to say that word.

I just think Tinkerbell is pretty cool. I wish I had wings. I'd fly away if I did. My favorite fairy is Silvermist, though. Merle called Silvermist a bimbo. Fawn is my second favorite. Merle didn't say nothing about her.

Anyway, I go to the bathroom to put on the clothes. As I'm in there, I take a moment to look in the mirror. I took off the bandage last night because it was bothering me. Now there's just a gross-looking spot on my head. That bullet took a bit of my skin and hair with it. It's ugly, if I pull my hair back, but if I leave it down, you can't notice it that much. I push some more of my hair over it, pretending that it doesn't bother me.

After I'm done looking at myself in the mirror like some sorta self-obsessed mean girl in a Disney Channel original movie, I put on the clothes. When I'm done, Maggie gives me the bowl of pasta and I head outside to eat at the picnic table. Dale and Glenn are out there still. Most other people are gone, for some reason.

"Where'd everyone go?" I ask as I plop down onto the bench.

Glenn jumps and spins around like I'm a giant monster and I've just jumped out of a corner and scared him half to death. "June! How long-" his voice cracks and he clears his throat quickly, "How long have you been there?"

"Just got here," I say, eyeing him warily. I was right, earlier. He is being weird. "Why?" I ask.

"No reason. I like your shirt," he says, giving me an awkward smile. I return the smile, just as awkwardly. "I saw the newer Tinkerbell movie. It- uh- it was good."

"Tinkerbell and the Lost Treasure? I wanted to see that one in theatres sooo bad, but Dad said we didn't have 'nough money. We got it from a Redbox after it came out, though," I say, forgetting all about his strange behavior. Dad watched movies with me a lot, even though he'd say he didn't like them if you asked.

"Uh... yeah. That one. I think," Glenn says, nodding his head.

"Where'd everyone go?" I ask for the second time because I didn't get any answer the first time.

"Out shooting," Dale tells me.

Almost instantly, a frown finds its way onto my face. "What? When? Why'd no one tell me?" I ask quickly.

"They asked your dad. He said he wanted you here," Glenn tells me, shrugging his shoulders. I let out a big huff. Of course he did. He just does every single thing that will make my day worse. I should just expect it by now. "I, uh, gotta talk to Dale now, so I'll see you later. We can talk more about Tinkerbell, or something," Glenn says, giving one more awkward smile before walking into the RV with Dale.

I eat about three-fourths of my pasta before my stomach decides that it's full. Then, I get up and start heading to the stables. I don't know what else to do when everyone is gone, so I'm gonna look at the horses. I love horses. I wanna ride one someday.

"June, where you goin'?" Dad's voice stops me in my tracks. He's lying down in the tent, holding one of his bolts in his hand. He's using it to poke holes in the screen that covers the window of the tent.

I huff. "To see the horses, since you ain't lettin' me go out shootin' with everyone else," I say with more sass than I've ever had before. It makes my stomach churn with anxiety, talking like this, but I keep telling myself; I don't care. Really, though, I do care. I just don't want to care.

"I don't want you goin' out shootin' until I can come with ya," Dad tells me. He doesn't even sound a little bit mad at my tone.

"Why not?" I ask. That's gotta make him mad. He hates that question. The answer is almost always, Because I fuckin' said so, Juniper.

But this time the answer is, "'Cause I don't want Officer Psycho teachin' you how to use a gun."

What?

"You talkin' 'bout Shane or Rick?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows.

Dad does that thing where he stares at me again. Then, he sighs. "Never mind. Shouldn't a' said it. How much you eat?"

I don't like that explanation, but I guess I'll just have to figure it out on my own who he meant. My guess would be Shane because Shane's been acting real weird lately, too. So many people have been acting weird. And that suddenly reminds me of the secret I'm keeping. I inhale sharply, silently telling myself to keep my trap shut.

"Almost all of it," I tell Dad.

"Good. How's your head feelin'?" is his next question. Gosh, he really is being weird lately.

"Ok," I say with a shrug. It still hurts, but not nearly as much as yesterday. It's more like a dull headache that's a bit bothersome but I can try my best to ignore it.

"A'right. You can go see the horses, but come back in a lil' bit and I'll give ya some more a' those pain meds," Dad tells me. I nod and start walking off, but Dad stops me again. "Aye." I look back and see that he's sitting up in the tent now. "Ya don't look like a fool," he murmurs. He looks sad and guilty, but he's trying to hide it. I can tell. "I oughta been damn near blind, 'cause you look very beautiful, Junebug."

My heart stops beating.

My chest is empty. I press my hand against my sternum. I can't feel nothing. I'm dying. Then, no, I feel it beating again. I'm still alive. My heart's still beating.

I don't wanna look at my dad no more. I hate him. I hate his guts. He's a liar. He's an awful, stupid, rude, horrible, terrible, lying father and I hate him.

Tears start to burn in my eyes, but I can't cry because of him. He's worthless. He ain't nothing to cry over. But I'm gonna cry. I can feel it in my throat and in my eyes and in my head and in my heart. I don't want him to see that it matters to me because he doesn't deserve to matter that much to me. He don't deserve nothing. But he does and I can't help it.

So I turn away from my dad and I bolt off to a hiding place where I'm hoping nobody will find me or hear my cries.