By mid-afternoon, I am home. My two younger cousins—the tall and intelligent Brianna and her rebellious sister Mia – shuffle into the doorway with their weekend luggage. My aunt and uncle divorced five years ago, and while I've remained under the total custody of my Aunt, my cousins seem to have made living out of a suitcase a way of life. It doesn't seem to affect them too much, though. They're both beautiful and full of self-confidence unlike me.

Long silky, dark hair, white shorts, a black top and a lacy pink cardigan, my 17-year-old cousin, Brianna, greets her mother with a one-arm hug.

"Hi, Mom," Brianna says with a sigh. "Nice haircut."

"Oh, do you like it?" she says. "I was thinking it maybe looked too roaring 20's."

"Oh, no," Brianna says. "It's great."

Fifteen-year-old Mia—sassy hair, denim shorts and a 'coexist' medallion around her neck—scoots around behind her sister and dodges her mother. She leaves some of her baggage at the door.

Remembering what my therapist said, I grab Mia's luggage and follow her into the bedroom. Behind me, I hear Aunt Lindsay compliment me for my gesture, but Mia only turns her head to sneer at me.

Mia drops her duffel bag near the doorway of our shared bedroom before flopping onto the bottom bunk.

"Where would you like these?" I ask.

"Where-ever," she says. "You know I didn't ask for your help, right?"

I set the other two bags near her duffel bag.

"I know," I say.

But then she protests, "Not like that. Some of the stuff is fragile in there."

She grabs the makeup box from me, and I try to avoid entertaining questions over whether she has something other than make-up inside.

"Oh. Sorry."

She carefully sets the makeup box behind her bed. Then she lays back down. I take the twin opposite of the bunk and sit down across from her, clapping my hands between my knees. Moments pass, and I still don't know what to say.

"God, would you stop that?" Mia says.

"Sorry."

"Why are you even in here?" she asks.

"To talk . . . I guess."

She rolls onto her side. "You want to talk to me?"

"No."

"No?" she says with a chuckle. "What?"

"It's sort of an assignment," I start.

"An assignment . . ." she scoffs and then laughs again. "You're not very good at being discreet, are you?"

"Uh – "

She scoots her legs around and sits up.

"Okay, so here's what you're going to do," she says. "You can tell Mom that you see no reason for her to worry her little head off. Mia is being a good little girl now, and Dad is not being overly permissive. She feels so humiliated about repeating her freshman year that she vows to herself never to skip class or run away again – no matter how hot the guy is. And where Mia steers wrong, Dad's got a total handle on things. Do that, and I'll come to your defense when Mom sets Brianna on you. Okay?"

"Uh, I think you misunderstood – " I start.

"Oh no," she says with a smile. "I know exactly what this is about. No more drugs, no more hokey séances, no more alcohol. Just keep things cool. It's a deal, Okay? Mia's a little angel. Got it?"

I hesitate.

"Got it?" she says again.

I bite my bottom lip briefly.

"Okay," I say and then stand up to leave the room.

"Hey," Mia says. "Where are you going? You have to stay in here and at least pretend we're having a long talk."

When I enter the kitchen later that evening for dinner, Brianna and Mia are already at the table whispering to each other. I catch words like, 'graduation,' 'non-refundable' and 'selfish moocher.' Brianna's eyes then land on me. She nudges her sister who immediately shuts up. I sit down at the table and stare at Mia. Mia narrows her eyebrows and shakes her head, so I avert my gaze to the table.

When my aunt sets the last plate of organic greens on the table, conversation resumes and revolves around the lives of my cousins. I contribute very little, contenting myself to stuffing my face.

"And I'm like," Brianna says. "Oh, yeah, Dad. That's not tacky at all.'"

Lindsay laughs. "If I recall, one of your father's was almost entirely of his fist. Had to show off his class ring or something."

"Oh my God."

"I think it's sorta cool," Mia says. "Sorta like 'Take that. I gradumacated, Suckers.'"

And without warning, Mia kicks my foot. I look up from my salad, and Mia slightly gestures with her head toward her mother.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"So, what did you decide?" Lindsay says..

"Well, Brooke is having hers done downtown."

"Oh. There are some nice historic sites down there. Have they finished the work on the capital? It'd be a nice spot if the scaffolding isn't still up."

"Personally, I was thinking . . . Picnic Point? They—"

Lindsay stabs her greens a little too forcefully. "No."

Brianna closes her mouth, and Mia kicks me in the shin this time.

"Ow," I say.

Mia glares at me. Apparently, reacting in pain to a kicked shin violates her code of secrecy.

Brianna and my aunt continue their conversation. "You know I don't like you girls hanging around haunted sites."

"It's not haunted."

Lindsay stuffs another forkful of greens in her mouth. "That's my answer, Bri. It's not going to—"

"Mia, stop!" I say, and everyone stops talking and looks at me. My face must turn a violent shade of pink. Meekly I add, rubbing my shin with my hand. "That hurts."

Then my aunt and Brianna exchange a look.

Brianna speaks. "So how's the job search, Alison?"

"Huh?"

"Yes, Alison," my aunt says. "I'd love to hear where you are on your job applications."

Oh crap! I forgot I promised Lindsay I'd find a job. Turn 18. Find a job. Start paying my aunt rent. That was the deal.

I shrug and stare down at my salad.

"You know," Brianna says. "I heard some of the parks in the Dells may still be hiring for the summer season."

"Oh. Yeah. Wisconsin Dells." I pause. "Wait. Isn't that an hour away?"

Lindsay lowers her glass of water. "More if you take the detour around Baraboo, but a lot of those places provide summer housing."

I lift my head and stare at my aunt with wide eyes. This time I'm sure I've gone pale in the face.

Then Mia sighs and surprises us all. "Do you really think you should rush her, Mom?"

Lindsay frowns at her youngest daughter.

"I mean, now that she's got access to her trust fund, don't you think—"

"That money's for school."

"That's not necessarily true, though," Mia says and then glances at me. "Is it, Alison?" She looks back at her mom. "It's Alison's money now, isn't it? I think the real issue is you wouldn't feel comfortable taking Eric and Julie's old—"

"Mia, stay out of this!" Brianna says.

But I've already had enough. I drop my fork in my half-eaten salad. "Right. Well, if you'll excuse me." And I leave.

To be honest, I'm stunned Mia stood up for me. I've never seen her treat me with a kinder side before. But it's as I'm opening the door to our bedroom that she grabs my wrist.

"Hey," she says in a hushed tone. "We had an agreement. I bail you when Bri does her thing. You—"

I let out a long sigh. "Oh, Mia. Lindsay never asked me to investigate your life. The assignment was homework from my therapist. I'm just supposed to be making an effort to socialize more."

Her mouth hangs open, and I pull free of her grip.

"Sorry," I say. "I guess I failed."

I start heading into the bedroom, and behind me she says, "You used me!" But I don't want to argue with her. I close the door and lock it. For now, I just need my space.

At 7:40, I ignore Braydon's phone call but listen to the voicemail immediately.

"Hey, this is Braydon. You know, the superhero who saved you from drowning." He gives a breathy laugh. "I guess I just missed you. Give me a call if you'd like to chat. I'll be up 'til 11. 'Night."

I sigh, and stare at his phone number, my finger hovering over send. My hand shakes. I can't. I just can't – not in this condition. I need something to calm me, to reassure me.

I open up Facebook and do a search for Braydon Klein. Unlike Philip, he's easy to find. I scour through photos of football matches, family gatherings, (several pictures at the dentist office? Hmm.) graduation pictures, and pictures of him smiling with various other youthful faces.

I call. Braydon answers on the second ring. He doesn't even say hello.

"Alison?"

"Um . . . " I say, overly aware of my voice. "Yes?"

"Hi!" he says.

"Hi."

"I'm really glad you called," he says. "Thought maybe you bailed on me."

I mumble, "Oh."

Silence.

"So," he says, and I hear movement through the phone. "How are you this evening?"

"Fine."

"That's good to hear," he says.

"Yep," I say.

Awkward pause.

"So," he says. "I take it you haven't had any more near-death experiences since last week."

He gives a slight chuckle, but stops suddenly when I simply say, "No."

Again, there is nothing but a period of breathing over the phone. I'm terrible at this.

Shut up! I have to do this.

"So, listen – " he starts.

And then I squint my eyes shut and force the following words out, "Do you want – I mean – would you – " My mind is drawing a blank. What was I supposed to ask him? "A date. Do you want to go on a date . . . or something?"

Shit! What did I just say? I'm not even interested in Braydon like that. Have I gone mad?

My heart races, and there's nothing but silence on the other end.

"Hello?" I say.

I could cry. I want to hang up now.

Do it!

I resist, then Braydon chuckles a little awkwardly.

"Wow," he says.

Hang up now. This will only get worse.

"Wow. I certainly wasn't expecting that," Braydon says.

I'm so nervous, I'm starting to feel dizzy.

"I'm sorry," I nearly cry. Thank God it just sounds breathless rather than whimpering. "Is that bad?"

"No," he says. "I just—I mean . . . Just sort of puts me on the spot, you know?"

"Oh. Sorry. Just—I didn't say it, okay? I take it back. I didn't say anything. In fact, I'm just going to hang up now. I didn't call. Just . . . uh . . . I guess there are no do-overs in life, are there? Well, anyway, bye."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Braydon says. "Don't hang up. Things are cool between us, okay?"

I am silent for several moments, attempting to compose my emotional state and voice. I'm so glad he can't see me, or he'd see a mess of tears.

"Okay," I succeed at saying with some dignity.

"So, listen," Braydon says. "My cousins and I are going to this summer festival tomorrow. Care to join us?"

I forget to breathe.

"Alison?"

"Um," I mumble. "Sure."