Judith's facing and staring idly at her bedroom door. She's lying with her comforter across her body and the sunlight pouring against her face. Stacey pushes the door open and sighs when she sees that her sister's not dressed.

"Judy, you gotta get ready to catch the bus," she reminds her. "The kids are already gone, so you can either stand at the stop or wait for Robbie to pick you up."

"I'm not going," Judith groggily says, her eyelids partially shielding her dark irises.

"And why not?" Stacey approaches her bedside and folds her arms, her eyebrows high as she waits for an answer. Judy merely turns over and tugs her blanket over her head. "Judith Sierra Jefferson, get up and get ready to go. You're an adult now, so unless you're sick, then –"

She sticks her head out and whisper yells over her shoulder, "I'm menstruating!"

"Oh, Judy." She chuckles and walks around the bed, then enters her bathroom. "You have your belt, right? I'll get you a sanitary napkin."

"I'm wearing the belt and the last napkin in the box," she announces before pushing herself into the seated position. Her face is stained red with fury from the night before, and her time of the month coming without warning. "Every time I need one, I don't have any, but when I'm good, the blue box is practically overflowing."

"Okay, um," Stacey pauses to think, then takes a deep breath as she steps into the bedroom. "I'll swing by the house and pick up my tampons, then take you to school."

"Shouldn't you be off your period," Judith asks, glancing at her protruding stomach with furrowed brows. "Plus, isn't it impossible for you to use tampons because of your condition?"

"My doctor gave me a set of glass dilators to treat it, so yes, I can use tampons and give birth without a problem." Judith looks Stacey up and down with her narrowed eyes, doubtful of her response. "But enough about me, get up and get dressed."

"I'm still not going." She begins to lie down when her sister yanks the comforter off her body, revealing her frail and bruised body in a bra and the white menstrual belt. "Stacey! What the hell?"

"Judy," her voice softens as she examines the discoloration and fresh scratches on her arms. Judith can feel her heart pounding anxiously, and her trembling hands reach for her blanket. She quickly draws it across her.

"I don't wanna talk about it," she mutters while shuffling the comforter against her chest, pinning it under her arms. "And don't tell Mom. She's been stressed out lately, and I don't wanna make things worse."

Stacey shuts her mouth, huffs through her nose, then shakes her head and walks to the door with Judy staring at her.

"I'll be in the car," she tells her as she turns the knob to open the door. She watches her leave then takes a deep, shaky breath.

Fuck.

***

Stacey glances at her sister with sympathy in her dark browns, her hands gripping the steering wheel.

"Do you have a change of clothes," she asks, breaking the silence.

"Yes, Mom," Judith sarcastically says with a forced smile. Stacey chuckles dryly as she shakes her head.

Judith's donning a long beige sweater with black elbow patches, dark bell-bottoms, and clogs. Her bookbag – textbooks, journals, folders, and feminine products hidden under spare clothes – is resting on her lap.

"And you have your talcum powder," Stacey asks her, and Judith stares with furrowed brows.

"Yes, but just so you know, I'm not using it." They briefly lock eyes before looking forward. "Just what I need right now is cancer."

"It's kinda ironic of you to suddenly care about your health," she says, drawing her younger sister's attention again.

"Don't do that," she rushes the words from her mouth. "You're never around, but now that Dad's gone, you wanna play the role of Big Sister? Frankly, I'm over everyone pretending to care."

"Spare me the melodrama, Judy." Stacey fans her off with her right hand and a contemptuous grimace on her face. "We're all dealing with shit this year, but nothing'll excuse the fact that you're reckless."

"Says the one who got pregnant against her doctor's orders; that's rich," she chuckles and shakes her head. Stacey bites her tongue. "You act so holier than thou, but you're no better than me. If anything, you're worse. It's probably why Stevie and Vera can't stand to be around you."

"Is that so?" She looks at Judith, who amusedly widens her eyes and plasters a fake smile across her lips. "Then why'd Stevie come to me crying last night about you? If he's disgusted by me, why'd he open up to me?"

"He was crying," she asks in a softer voice, her expression sinking.

"It was something about him fearing that you'll try to kill yourself again," Stacey explains. "He says he found you one night and thought you were dead, and since then, he's had nightmares that hadn't stopped until last week or so. I suppose this incident probably scared him again."

"I didn't – I didn't mean to scare him. I never did," Judith stammers, and Stacey rolls her eyes. They cruise down the road, nearing the campus.

"Of course, you didn't mean to. None of you mean to do anything, but the point is," she begins, veering against the curb. "You did it, so when you see him, apologize to him and Vera too. Anyway, be safe. I'll pick you up after your classes are over."

"That's okay. I always take the bus." Judith slides her bag over her shoulder as she thrusts the door open. "I'll see you at home."

She watches Judith exit the car, and after she shuts the door behind her, she walks around the front. She strolls to the group building as Stacey drives down the road.

I can't believe I've been so – neglectful. Inconsiderate. No wonder Stevie ran off after she mentioned the Ipecac.

"Thank you," she says without looking up when a student opens the door on his way out. He steps aside then narrows his eyes at her.

"I recognize you," he tells her though his tone is uncertain. Judith lifts her chin, and he smiles.

"Cyrus?" His dreadlocks are freshly twisted, falling down his head and framing his face. "I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you at first."

"You're good." He politely brushes her off. "I'm glad I bumped into you. Me and the guys were worried about you after – y'know. Is everything okay?"

Judith looks at her shoes, takes a deep breath, and then shakes her head.

"I, uh, went to the Dean's office, but," she trails off. "He didn't care. I don't even know if he believed me, quite frankly."

Cyrus stares at her with confusion on his face. He can see and feel her sadness, and he grinds his teeth to keep from asking anything about it.

"I planned on protesting, but I don't know." Judy pulls her shoulders back to straighten her posture, and she takes another breath. Shaking her head, she says, "It might not even do much good. I mean, everyone's content with the way things are, and it's hard to get accepted here, so they probably don't wanna mess that up. Plus, I'm aware that some people don't like to help each other for fear of expulsion."

"It wasn't always that way," he assures her, and she nods, her eyes glazing over.

"Yeah, I know the story. Jerome told me." Judith looks at Cyrus. "It's still upsetting knowing that if something happened, no one'd give a shit."

"I can't speak for everyone else but me personally," he begins, placing his hand to his chest. "I care. This shit's personal to me, so if it's alright with you, I'll protest with you."

"Really?" Her bleak expression shifts to visible hopefulness, and he nods his head, his lips curling into a slight grin. "Okay, um, well, I have to get to my group meeting. It'll probably be an hour long, so where can I find you afterward?"

"I'll be in the dorms waiting for our housefather, but I'll meet you in the student lounge; he should be here by then," he says, and she nods. She takes a confident breath.

"Okay. Thanks again," Judith says before rushing down the hall with his gaze fixed on her. He exits the building, and she stands in front of the door. Staring at the sign, her heart begins to race.

She's hoping everyone's in the room and ready to continue their mission for change, but when she turns the knob and pushes the door open, her stomach sinks at the sight of chairs stacked on tables in the empty room. An easel is leaning against the windows with sheet-covered canvases surrounding it.

Judith takes hesitant steps into the room, and a chill runs down her spine, causing her to shiver. She flicks the lights on, then approaches the dark brown easel.

Her eyes land on the windowsill. It's covered in dust and spider webs as if no one's been in there in a long time, contrary to the evidence of students occupying the room.

She drops her bag beside her and folds her arms, staring at the paint and brushes ready to be used.

I haven't painted in – God, maybe a year?

Judy licks her dry lips and takes the white styrofoam cup littered with brown and red fingerprints to the metal sink on the far left of the room. She fills it halfway before returning to her post, sitting it down where she took it from.

She steps to her right and yanks the sheet off the canvas next to the easel. Judith bends down and hoists the medium-sized board into the holder, then brushes her palms against the front of her thighs.

What would I even paint?

She takes a thin brush, dips, twirls it in the water without looking away from the blank board, and then stops.

"Art is an imitation of life but through the lens of the artist," she hears a young woman say in her head. "Or to put it simply, draw, paint, or write what you feel."

How do I feel?

She feels a spurt of pain pinch through her chest upon taking a deep breath. Judith ignores it and dabs the brush through the little glob of brown paint in the utensil container. Without a moment to think, she strokes a misshapen circle that perfectly resembles an egg.

"Oh, I didn't know anyone was in here." She turns her head to the meek voice behind her and notices Juniper heavily clad in a grey hoodie, jeans, and boots. She's standing under the arch of the door, the hood over her head. "I'm sorry, I'll go."

"No, it's okay," Judith softly tells her. "I was just leaving. I don't even know what I'm doing over here, anyway."

"Looks like you're painting," Juniper monotonously states the obvious as she slowly walks closer. Judy follows her gaze onto the shape. "I usually come in here to be alone, and every now and then, I'll paint. I got inspired seeing a few other girls – black girls – come in, paint, then leave with their artworks."

Juniper stands to Judy's left, and the smell of her lemon perfume wafts into Judith's nose.

"So," Judy drones, unsure if she should ask about Derek though thoughts of them plague her. They look at each other, and she decides against it. "What's the deal with your sister?"

"What do you mean?" She twists her mouth to the left of her face, confusion, and curiosity in her dark browns.

"She seemed – obsessed," she says. Juniper's narrowed eyes glaze over in thought, so Judy elaborates, "I mentioned someone grabbing me that night of the storm and how I didn't see his face because he was wearing a dark coat."

"And she brought up the Grim Reaper," Juniper asks. When Judith nods, she chuckles and shakes her head. "Jenny can be a bit – different. I don't know what happened to her in her childhood, but whatever it was must've rewired her brain. One night, I came home drunk with scratches on my legs, and she swore it was because of a Tasmanian Devil. We were in California at the time, and the reason I had scratches was because a mutt knocked me off my bike, trying to attack me, but when she gets an idea in her head, it's hard to convince her otherwise."

"I'm sorry that happened to you." Juniper shakes her head dismissively.

"It was years ago; I was seventeen, maybe. It is what it is," she says, and Judith furrows her eyebrows.

"You were drinking at seventeen?" Juniper laughs at her question. "What? I'm genuinely asking."

"My parents are Scottish, so celebratory drinking is normal in our house," she explains. "I suppose I got a little greedy when I chose to do it behind their back."

They veer their heads to the sound of footsteps behind them and lock eyes with a short, dark-skinned girl. She has a dark book bag over her left shoulder.

"Hey," she hesitantly greets them. "I came in to paint, but I'll come back when you're done."

"No, you don't have to," Judith assures her with a smile. "I was talking more than painting, really, but it's okay to join us."

She limps toward them as if her left leg is shorter than the other, and her eyes lock on Juniper. She narrows them as if she's studying her. Clusters of fresh and picked pimples surround her nose, mouth, and eyes.

"I think I know you." Juniper glances at Judith out of her peripheral. "Weren't you at the Psi Delta party on Friday? I think I saw you leave out with another girl."