“Sonny, of course you can stay here,” Mrs. Rush said. “In fact, you should’ve told us sooner. We wouldn’t have been upset.”

“That said, we don’t condone illegal substances in this house either,” Mr. Rush said. “So if you are going to continue staying here, no pot.”

“No problem,” I said.

Truth be told, I’d never smoked pot in my life. Not for any moral or ethical reason (clearly my morals were all over the place), but I just hadn’t had much of an interest. I liked to be able to think quick on my feet. All the better for lying, my dear. A drug that slowed down the brain, even just for a little bit? No thanks.

“You have the same curfew as Amy, then,” Mrs. Rush said. “All the same rules.”

“And you have to call your mother. Right after we finish up here,” Mr. Rush said. “I know you think she knows where you are, but I’d rather not leave her guessing. She still cares about you. She’ll want to know you’re safe.”

I nodded.

But I wasn’t so sure he was right.

Mrs. Rush got to her feet. “I better go get the guest room set up, then.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “I don’t mind staying in Amy’s room.”

“Are you sure?” Mrs. Rush asked. “It’s got to be a little crowded in there for the both of you. A slumber party is one thing, but full-time …”

“We don’t mind sharing,” Amy assured her.

“Well, I’m at least going to clear the closet so she can hang her clothes up,” Mrs. Rush said. “Good lord, Sonny. Have you been living out of a duffel bag this whole time?”

I nodded.

She shook her head and gave me a hug, as if this was the saddest thing she’d ever heard. Once she let go, she headed for the stairs. “Amy, honey, why don’t you go put some fresh towels for both of you in the bathroom.”

“Okay.” Amy stood up, gave me a fleeting glance, then followed her mother up the stairs.

Which left only Mr. Rush and me.

There was a long silence at first, and it was so painfully awkward that I had to say something or my brain might explode.

“Thank you for letting me stay.”

“Don’t even mention it,” he said. “You and Amy have been best friends for how long? We might as well make you living here official.” He smiled, but there was a sadness in it. “Sonny, are you sure you don’t want me to call your mother?”

“I’ll do it,” I said. “I’ll tell her where I am.”

He nodded. “But if you do need to talk about something, don’t hesitate to come to Mrs. Rush or me. I know that probably goes without saying, but …”

“Thank you,” I said. “I will.”

“Good.” He stood up. “I’m going to go get dinner started. Call your mother, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

I still had Amy’s cell phone, and when Mr. Rush left the room, I pulled it out. I stared at the keypad for a long time before dialing the familiar number. One I’d dialed over and over and over again in the past few weeks.

“Sorry, but the number you have dialed is disconnected or is no longer in service.”

I hung up and put the phone away, blinking back tears.

“The closet and the dresser are empty,” Mrs. Rush announced as she made her way back down the stairs. “They’re all yours.”

“Thank you.” I stood up. “I’ll go put my clothes away.”

“Did you call your mother?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yeah. She said she’s not ready for me to come home yet, but she’s glad I’m okay. She says thanks for letting me stay.”

Mrs. Rush smiled and touched my shoulder. “Good,” she said. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“I will. Thank you.”

I couldn’t say it enough. Thank you for letting me stay. Thank you for not asking more questions. It was more than I deserved. More than most people would give their daughter’s delinquent best friend.

I wasn’t actually a delinquent, but based on the lies I’d just told, they thought I was. But still, they were letting me live here. That’s just the kind of people the Rushes were.

I went up to Amy’s room and grabbed my bag. I took it to the guest room and started tossing my wrinkled clothes into drawers and putting the nicer things (i.e., my one nice sweater) on hangers.

I was almost done when Amy’s phone buzzed in my back pocket. I looked at the screen and saw that it was a text from Ryder.

My dad knows I know about the model and now he won’t stop calling. I never answer. He won’t take the hint.

I was supposed to respond with something obnoxious or bizarre. Something to make him question why he’d ever like Amy. That was why I had the phone, after all. But just then, with my mother’s silence ringing in my ears, I couldn’t hold back the words I really wanted to say to him.

Answer him. He might be a dick, but at least he wants to talk to you.

It only took Ryder a second to respond.

That wasn’t the reply I expected. Is everything okay?

Not for the first time, I found it was easier to be honest in text form than in real life.

Not really.

Is it your mom?

Yes.

Do you want to talk about it? I’m here to listen. You’ve listened to me complain plenty about my parents.

Actually, I’d rather talk about anything but that right now.

We can do that, too.

We shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have.

But we did.

The next day, my hunt for employment finally paid off.

I got an e-mail from the bookstore at the mall, inviting me for an interview.

I sat down with the manager after school on Monday, but only for a few minutes. I got the sense they would hire pretty much anyone.

“It’s retail,” the manager, Sheila, said. “We get pretty busy around the holidays.”

“So this would just be seasonal?” I asked, a little disappointed. Any job would do, but I was going to need one well past the end of the year.

“Yes,” Sheila said. “But there’s always potential for you to be hired on in the new year, too.”

“Potential is good.”

“So you’re in?”

“Definitely.”

While I felt a little guilty about mooching off the Rushes, at least now I’d have money to pay for my gas and lunch without having to lie or borrow from Amy. I could also start saving up for new clothes, since I hadn’t packed many winter outfits when I left my house.

“Also,” Amy said when I told her the good news that night, “you can get me a discount on books.”

“Because you don’t have enough of those,” I said, gesturing to the overflowing bookcase next to her desk. “Have you even read all of those? Or even half?”

“It’s more about the collection,” she said.

I rolled my eyes. “One day, you’re going to be on a reality TV show, buried under your collection and needing a serious mental health intervention.”

“And you’ll be the concerned friend who, instead of finding me the help I need, decides to get me on TV.”

“Hey, girl. I need my close-up, too.”

We both burst into giggles, for once not worried about being too loud or waking her parents. I have to admit, it was nice to be done with the sneaking around. Between that and the new job, a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

Unfortunately, there were still a couple more I couldn’t seem to shake.

I had this recurring nightmare that started when I was eleven, when things with my mom began going south.

Or more south than they’d already been.

The dream began in my bedroom back home. I was doing something — homework or reading, I was never really sure — when I heard the front door slam. From there, it was always the same. I’d get up and call out to my mom, but there would only be silence. Thick, unnatural silence. Even the birds outside my window seemed muted all of a sudden. So I’d leave my bedroom and find that the house was nearly pitch-black. The sun, which had been shining through my bedroom window, vanished. I’d keep calling for my mom and hunting for a light switch, but they weren’t where they were supposed to be. And neither was the furniture. I’d reach to put my hand on the counter or go to sit on a chair and find nothing there. Eventually, I’d go to my mom’s room, sure she’d be there. Sure she’d be able to fix whatever had happened to our house.