Today forty-six people in New Jersey won the lottery.

They were going to split a 324-million-dollar pot and they are so happy! One lady was homeless! One man was home from Afghanistan and now he doesn’t have to go back! One person was already rich but now she’s richer!

Mom said, “Olivia. Get off the computer and get your sister dressed.”

I stared at the screen. Three hundred and twenty-four divided by forty-six was around seven million. What if I won seven million? Mom could quit her job and I could buy my own phone and Berkeley could have all the Beanie Babies she wanted and we could live in a real house.

Maybe even Dad would come back.

Maybe all we needed was seven million dollars.

“Olivia. Do you hear my voice?” she said.

I looked at her. “What?”

“Get your sister dressed.”

Today I was going to enter at least ten contests. That was my goal. I always enter the HGTV Dream House Giveaway and the Publishers Clearing House and then a few more regulars. But today I was going to find better ones. New ones.

My favorite part of entering was when the contest said this one thing: You May Already Be a Winner. It made me think that somewhere, probably somewhere fancy like New York City or Paris, someone was holding a big old suitcase of cash with my name all typed in gold. Or maybe on a tropical island where it never snowed and where the air smelled like coconuts was a house that was made especially for me, decorated in green and purple, my favorite colors. Or even there could be a lifetime supply of Twix bars just waiting in the UPS truck.

“Olivia,” Mom said again.

“Okay,” I said.

Mom’s sister, Susan, who has money and lives in Wisconsin and who I have only seen twice, sent us the computer. It is my best thing. The only person who maybe loved it more than me was Dad who spent so many hours on it at night that he and Mom would get in fights.

But he’s gone.

“Now!” Mom said, and I turned it off.

Berkeley was watching Sesame Street and coughing.

“Berk. Cover your mouth,” Mom said. She grabbed her keys and her Diet Coke and she said to me, “Maybe you should stay home again. The day care is being jerks about the cough.”

“Okay,” I said.

Every morning Mom did this.

She would say Berk isn’t going to day care because of a cough, or because Berkeley had a long night, or because Mom was running late, but really, Berkeley hadn’t been to day care for weeks and I hadn’t been to school in just as long.

Then she said, “But both of you need to get dressed. We’re not barbarians.”

I nodded.

“No computer. And turn out all the lights. The electricity bill was insane last month and no library.”

“Okay,” I said.

We used to hang out at the library.

Then they asked why we weren’t in school.

So we can’t go anymore.

Mom went out the door and she got in the Pontiac and I yelled, “Mom.”

And she says, “What?”

And I say, “Does Utah have a lottery?”

And she rolled her eyes and shut the car door. Roared down the road and almost hit the SLOW DOWN sign.

~

Ten minutes later I watched Carlene and her cousin Lala walk to school.

I don’t walk to school with Carlene anymore, which means I don’t eat lunch with her, which also means I don’t really know what’s going on, like who likes who or who wore what or who got suspended or who is cool and who isn’t.

Also, now I’m not Carlene’s best friend anymore.

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Dear Dad,

Hey! There is a new restaurant that everyone is talking about. It is called WaffleLove. They have waffles there. I have never had one yet because I’m waiting for you. Do you think you’ll come? They are five dollars each but you can get all kinds of toppings. Carlene told me about it. She’s had sixteen of them since they opened.

The Carters are gone but their trampoline is still there. The dad got arrested by the cops and then Tammy and the kids moved out in the middle of the night but they left the tramp! So Berk and I sort of took it over. I can do a front flip.

Love, Olivia

P.S. How long are you going to be gone?

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