Edward lives on the richer side of the neighbourhood in a big house with brown bricks. I know he's not at home, though. He's in the forest, or at the lake. My guess is the latter. He's always there, not necessarily because he doesn't like being at home, but rather because the lake is like his hideout. It's calm, pretty. It's a place just for us. It's our lake. No one ever goes there. It's tucked in the middle of the woods. It's perfect. Edward likes everything involving nature. He loves the fauna and the flora. He loves the wild, the adventure.

I find him sitting on the dock at the edge of the water, feeding bits of bread to the mallard ducks. I watch him for a few seconds, watch him smile to himself and speak to the animals. It's sweet, I think, how caring he is. I take a step backward to leave, thinking maybe it isn't such a good idea to talk to him after all. I don't want to bother him. Instead, I land on a thin twig which makes a cracking noise underfoot. I flinch. He flinches, too. He twists around, his eyes meeting mine.

"Jesus, Margo," he breathes, "you scared me."

"Sorry. Who'd you think it was?"

"I dunno, a bear?"

"I'm glad I sound like a bear to you."

"What? No... No, no, no! I didn't mean it at that way!"

"I know," I nudge him jokingly, my bruised shoulder hitting his. I wince, turning my face the other way to mask the pain. I can feel Edward staring at me, though, and my cheeks grow hot.

"Wanna go for ice cream?" he asks.

"It's a bit cold."

"It's never too cold for ice cream."

"Maybe it is,"

"Dang it, Margo! Why are you so boring?" he chuckles.

I want to laugh, too, but I can't. The pain in my shoulder is throbbing. "Ice cream sounds good. I'm full, though," I lie, "maybe in an hour or so we can go."

"Ah, fine. You know what they say... Happy wife, happy life!" There's a pause. "Not that you're my wife... Or anything, for that matter..."

I manage to breathe out a laugh and glance at one of the ducks: the largest one of the bunch, coated in bushy feathers that look like they've been worn out with age. "That duck looks like it's been through a lot," I say. I feel the need to distract him from my injuries even though he can't necessarily see them - I'm wearing a long sleeve. Still, I feel exposed. Vulnerable, in a way.

"Yeah, he comes here everyday and waits for me to feed him. I named him Dennis. Dennis the duck."

"That's cool," I offer him a smile, extending my legs and laying down, feeling the motion of the water rock beneath me through the wood.

Edward positions himself next to me. "What do you wanna do when you're older, Margo?"

I turn my head to face his, our eyes meeting once again. His are a deep, rich brown. He's handsome, in a way, but I don't think I like him. He's been my best friend for far too long. We've lived near each other for ages. "I don't know," I say. "Maybe... Maybe get a teaching degree, like Grandma. What about you?"

"I dunno, raise of flock of ducks?"

"Ah, have Dennis' legacy live on."

"Exactly! You know what? You should join me. We could own a farm together."

"That's an idea."

"You know what? We could get a piglet. Pigs are cool. Highly intelligent, too." He smiles at me, reaches into his bag, pulls out more bread and rips a chunk from the loaf. "Want some?" he asks.

"No thanks,"

"You're not hungry? At all?"

"No, not really."

"Just eat! Come on." He stands up, swinging his bag over his shoulder and stretching out his hand. "We're going for ice cream."

"I have no money," I tell him, which is the truth.

He grins, tosses some bread into his mouth, then pulls a bill from his pocket. "But I do,"

▫▫▫▫

Isabelle Chambers has a round face, soft skin and wavy hair cropped just beneath her jawline. She has beautiful eyes - a mixture of caramelized browns and specks of forest green, framed by thick, dark eyelashes. I've seen her on multiple occasions around the neighbourhood. She's a grade lower than us. She always wears these long, flowing dresses with bright, popping lipsticks. I've also heard stories of her floating around in school rumours - talks of Isabelle being rich, flirting with older boys, flirting with younger boys, having it all. Looking at her now, I envy her.

Why is she working at this dump of an ice cream parlour if she's rich, anyway? She doesn't need the money.

"Here's your chocolate fudge sundae," Isabelle smiles. Her cheeks dimple when her lips curl back.

Edward is mesmerized by her. I can tell.

"Merci Isa," he says.

"Derien, Eddie."

She hands a second ice cream cone to Edward, mine. I shift awkwardly, feeling out of place. I'm a third wheel. I take the cone, rubbing my thumb against the patterns of the wafer, waiting for Edward to finish the long conversation he's having with the love of his life. I feel a gooey, cold consistency touch my skin. The ice cream is melting onto my fingers.

"Edward," I whisper, tugging lightly at his shirt. I feel awkward interrupting the conversation. That's not true. I don't. I want my hands clean. "Ask her for napkins."

He gets them, says goodbye to Isabelle, and swings his arm around my shoulder, brushing against where Ma had hit me. I jerk away.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"Nothing..." I lie, "just wasn't expecting that, that's all."

As we walk back toward our neighbourhood, Edward finishes his chocolate fudge sundae and tosses the plastic cup to the ground. "See you tomorrow?" he says.

I nod and smile at him. "See you tomorrow," I reply, backing up into my front yard. I keep smiling and waving at him until I see him twist around, making his way towards his own house. It's nice, for a moment. I watch him become smaller in the distance. I love Edward, I decide. Not in the romantic way, but I love him.

And then I hear a scream rip through the door.

Though the scream is partially muffled, I recognize whose voice it belongs to. I feel a pang of guilt. You shouldn't have left the house. You fucking idiot, you shouldn't have left the goddamn house. I know I shouldn't have - especially with the state Ma's in.

I barge into the house, tugging my coat away while trying to slip off my shoes, yelling, "Lila? Lila, where are you?"

Ma seizes my arms. My stomach drops. "Where have you been?" she questions.

I tell the truth. I know I shouldn't, but I do. "I went out with Edward."

"Edward is a bad, bad man from a bad, bad family, Margo. You know that. Do you know how many people they've stolen from? Why do you think they're so rich, Margo?"

I want to scream at her. I want to slap her in the face and push her away from me and scream at her. I want to tell her she's stupid, and that what she says is nonsense, and that I love Edward, and that Edward is perfectly perfect. I don't. Instead, I mumble,

"Edward is nice, Maman."

"You are not to be around him."

"Maman..."

"You're going to work for me."

Now, my heart stops. I stare, as if staring at her can clarify things. "What do you mean?"

"You're going to quit school, and you're going to work for me."

"Ma, I can't..."

Her grip tightens, and the pressure is so intense around my skin I have gone numb. "Listen to me, Margo." I listen. Her words are slow. "You're going to quit school, and you're going to work for me."

Lila's cries are getting louder, drowning out every other thought I could possibly have. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to picture a life working for my mother. I'd make good money, I decide. It'd help support my family. I'd make a living. Maybe I could make enough to buy my own place and leave this hellhole of a house.

I open my eyes and look at Evelyn Chastain, taking in every detail of her face. "Okay," I say. "I'll work for you."