"Margaret!" The sharp voice I know too well snaps me from my dreams about chocolate cake, and the cool desktop sends tingles across my face, burnt with exhaustion. And embarrassment.

How did she notice me even in the back? I just want a little rest on my birthday... I hastily wipe away the drool trickling down my chin on my scratchy sweater before I bob back to sleep. My cheeks flush as I lift my head, messy tangles of rusted locks tumbling down. I look like a cat fresh out of a bath—flustered, eyes darting around as if searching for an escape.

Thirty pairs of eyes stare at me.

Snickers and whispers linger among them—hushed so I can't hear what they're saying, but loud enough that my face burns hotter. A disdainful tapping snaps me to the front, and I barely make out Ms. Edna through my welling eyes, rapping her finger against the chalk-caked blackboard.

"The answer to number one, Margaret?" Her lips curl up into a smirk, like she knows I've been caught in a trap I can't escape. She has her arms crossed around a black blouse, dark boots tapping underneath a stiff dress, and a bun that sits annoyingly on the top of her head. I resist the urge to march up there and rip it right off, instead blinking away the hot tears that threaten to roll down my cheeks.

I grope around my pockets for my stupid glasses, but they're nowhere to be found.

"Uh... number one?" I squint.

I can practically hear the exasperation seeping through her sigh. "Yes. Number one." She says, dragging the words as if I can't understand English.

I narrow my eyes until I nearly force tears, but the blackboard remains a muddle of squiggles and lines dancing around. Not that I would make anything out with my glasses, either. It's forty! Brainless girl. Stupid. The whispers grow louder and harsher as my chest tightens like the fists by my side. It's not only the insults themselves, but that they're true. I'm just a stupid girl who forgets her glasses every day, dresses like a boy, and always gets in trouble.

Keep to yourself today, alright? We'll have lots of fun when we get home. My little sister, Violet, told me as we walked to school this morning. I foolishly convinced myself I could.

"You know her father ran off with another woman, right?" The boy next to me doesn't even try to whisper. Giggles erupt to my side. Whispers pierce my ears as I feel the whole world closing in on me. And in the front of the class, I want to wipe that stupid smirk on Ms. Edna's face not just off her face, but the face of the earth.

"SHUT UP!" I slam my fists on the desk, sending it crashing into another. Papers fly all over, and for a moment all I can hear is my heart pounding, my breaths ragged as I choke on tears. My father. The thoughts come clipped like my breath. He's the reason my mother ended up like him. Why I—

"Margaret! To the office!" The smirk is gone from her face, sure, but now I wonder if it would have been better to leave things as they were.

At least the rest of the day is as quiet as I am. There are whispers here and there, but most of them stare at me like I'm some sort of outcast.

Well, if that makes them shut up, so be it.

I pick up my sister at the front of the school later. We're both bundled up in thick, puffy overcoats and mittens that could double as oven mitts. Her golden hair flows in wisps beneath a faded red cap, her cheeks flushing as little snowflakes flutter across the snow-swept city.

"Happy birthday," Violet says as we trudge down the whitened streets. The street lamps quiver in the breeze, splotches of orange light dancing across the snow.

I shrug and squeeze her hand a little tighter. It's only five, but the sky has turned sleet gray, the sun hidden behind dark, rolling clouds. The cars parked along the sides of the road seem to sag as the snow whips harder, and the little stores and buildings huddle tightly, as if trying to warm themselves up.

Violet's eyes are gray, too, as she stares ahead, hardened under a thick skin of maturity that came too soon.

My heart thumps harder, trying to reach for her, to let her cradle my wounds. But I can't seem to utter a word to my sister. I won't. She already lost someone to look up to—I can't let that happen again. Violet was too young to understand when our father left, and my mother could only listen to her cries. I didn't want to, either. But I could only watch as my mother's heart shattered into a million pieces, along with what remained of our family. None of us smiled much after that, but at least my mother and I had smiled once upon a time.

"Maggie?" Violet's voice rips me from my thoughts.

I sigh, bury myself in my scarf, and stare ahead. I want to lean on her, only I'm afraid that I'll become more afraid if I tell her, and that her little shoulder won't be able to hold the weight of my tears.

A few blocks later and a shortcut through a back alley, we arrive at the apartment complex: two stories lined with black railings and white concrete that blends seamlessly with the snow. Our apartment, a cramped hellhole reeking of alcohol, is at the top left. The snow has almost buried the doors, but—

I freeze, not because of the cold blast of air that smacks me in the face, but at the flash of pink in front of the door. Letting go of Violet, I sprint up the steps, one foot after the other, like my racing heart. No. It can't be. Before I can even catch my breath, my face tightens, my mouth a thin line as I wipe away the snow from the pink paper.

EVICTION NOTICE.

The thick, bold letters slap me like the snow does, only the coat and scarf and mittens are no use this time. It cuts deeper, through my skin, shaking my heart back and forth against my chest.

Our father left nothing when he disappeared, like everything we had was just an illusion. A happy dream that I quickly realized had become a nightmare. Our house—gone—as we were forced into a cramped apartment. Our family—could it even be called one?

And now, what little we had was about to be torn again.

"What's that?" I whip around. Violet leans forward, but I rip the paper off the door and crumple it before she can read a word.

"Nothing. It's just some... advertisement, flier stuff." I snap—a little too quickly, but I can't let her see this. I can't let her worry about things she isn't supposed to.

Violet says nothing and nods, but one look at her eyes tells me she doesn't believe a word I said. "Why can only you do the grown-up stuff?" She whines, like every little sister should, but I can't seem to answer her. Why do I let myself see what I don't have to? Is it because nobody else will? I can just look away, ignore it, and pretend that everything's fine. But I can't seem to ignore my classmates, either.

"Where's Mom?" She asks, poking her head into the apartment as I unlock the door. I step inside and flick the light on.

Nothing—that's what's surprising. Clouds of minty air freshener tickle my nose, and the apartment radiates a sense of cleanliness that makes me almost shiver. Oops. I shut the door.

"Mom?" Only the whir of the ceiling fan above answers me. My throat clenches—is it fear? Anger? The boiling feeling doesn't erupt, just pokes and prods until I don't know what to feel. I take off my coat and start towards the kitchen, but Violet tugs on my sleeve. "Is she at the supermarket?"

"Probably not. We went last week already," I sigh. "C'mon, I'll fix ourselves some dinner."

But she doesn't budge. "What if... she was abducted by aliens and we're the only ones that can save her?" She tries to keep on a serious face, but a grin cracks through.

"Don't be ridiculous, she..." I stop, fear latching onto my throat as I reach for the phone by the wall. What if she's crawling on the street, stuck in the snow? She's a drinking bum to everyone, but only we know her as our mother.

I punch the numbers shakily and wait the agonizing few seconds as a cackle secures our connection. "M-mom? Are you there?"

Bits of conversation come clipped through the phone before she answers, talking faster and faster like she doesn't have enough time to apologize. "Margaret, I'm so sorry. I know it's your birthday, but the snow started, and—"

"Where are you?" My voice cracks, tears welling up in my eyes. How can she speak so carelessly? Is it that she doesn't know, or that she thinks we don't? I want to keep pretending, too, but it hurts. Hurts that I have no one to endure the pain with.

"Oh, I was at an interview, and they said I start tomorrow! Isn't that great?" The lump in my throat robs my voice as the pink paper slips out of my hands. "I might even be able to buy the chocolate cake you wanted."

"Margaret? Is everything fine?"

For a moment, I almost laugh. Yeah, so what if we're about to get kicked out onto the streets? Everything's fine. I got chocolate cake.

"W-we got an eviction notice," I whisper, but like the tears that don't stop, I can't hold back. "Why can't you come home? You promised me. I just wanted us..." I drop the phone, my mother's fading voice frantic as I stand there, convulsing as each tear brings another shudder. "I just wanted us to be a normal family."

"Maggie. You can't cry on your birthday." Violet's hand brushes against my stained cheeks, but I swat her away.

"SHUT UP!" She recoils, and I suddenly see myself that night when my mother struck me: crumpled on the ground, crying in confusion. But I'm done seeing the truth. I turn away from Violet and crawl into my bedroom where even the pillow can't dry my eyes. I'm done holding back the tears, too.

I cry and cry and cry until I've bled my heart out and all I can do is hug the pillow tighter, rocking back and forth as I stare at the ceiling. Why? Was it because I always got in trouble, that I never thought about the consequences? I hadn't thought that things could get worse, thought that I had seen all the hurt the world could offer.

The door creaks open, and I jerk my head, my eyes burning with embarrassment. Violet steps in, slips beside me, and stares at the ceiling. She says nothing—neither do I, for there is too much to say in words. I look at her, her little figure sitting straight, fighting when I've given up.

"I-I'm sorry," I say after a long while. "I shouldn't have shouted at you."

She nods. "It's fine. Sisters fight."

Violet finally meets my eyes, and I see tears crinkle the edges, her lip quivering slightly. "You should talk to Mom. She tries, you know? She's not perfect, but you can't keep looking down. You'll never see her then."

I sigh. "But our rent, our apartment, it's all going to be gone in a few days. And then—"

"Shhh." She grabs my hand and places a bracelet in it. "I meant to give this to you earlier. It's not great, but apartment or not, now you'll always be with me." I hold it in my palm, tracing my fingers over the smooth beads that spell out our names, a little heart between them.

All this time she had been trying to reach for me, but I shut myself out, thinking that I was the only one hurting. We all were, but I never thought to wipe my tears to see hers. I look at her, and then back at myself. Maybe everything will be alright. Not forever, but today, it's my birthday.

And no one's allowed to cry on their birthday.