The next day after the hamburger was a Saturday, which I was glad for.

Even though I had gone to school for two weeks and I was starting to be okay for the most part, I was relieved to get a day off.

A day to sit on my tramp.

Mom didn’t have to work in the morning again so she got up early and by the time me and Berkeley were awake she was already scrubbing the kitchen, which she used to do back before but which she hadn’t done for a long long time.

She didn’t like to bring work home with her.

The whole place smelled like lemon.

She said, “Get dressed, girls. We’re going out for breakfast.”

Berkeley said, “What?”

And she said, “You heard me. As soon as I get this floor done, I’m getting in the car and getting me a McGriddle.”

Berkeley started jumping up and down. “Can I get pancakes?”

“Of course you can, baby girl. You can have pancakes and orange juice and even sausage if you want.”

Berkeley squealed. “Come on, Livy,” and ran back into our bedroom.

I don’t know why but I did not squeal or run back to the bedroom. Instead I watched Mom as she finished scrubbing.

She looked up at me. “Why aren’t you getting ready?”

I wanted to tell her the stuff I told Melody.

About the hamburger.

About how school was horrible.

About how most of my teachers said I couldn’t catch up.

I wanted to tell her that she ruined everything. And about why wasn’t Dad emailing me back? Or writing me back? And about how nothing ever ends up good except for when I do my own thing—when she doesn’t ruin it. Like I might get my hair reverse permed by Melody even if she didn’t like it. Like I might move to Zimbabwe even if she said Africa was full of wild animals. Like I might get on a Greyhound and go find Dad even if Lala said he was trashy and had a girlfriend and even if Mom promised he’d come back because I had a feeling he never would.

I wanted to tell her all those things.

But then I said, “I don’t feel like eating McDonald’s.”

This was a lie and she knew it was a lie. She sat back on her heels and looked at me.

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t want a Sausage Egg McMuffin?”

“No.”

“You don’t want orange juice?”

“Nope.”

“You don’t want an apple pie?”

I tried to keep my face normal even though sometimes I think about those pies at night.

“No, thank you.”

She narrowed her eyes, which made her look like an evil lady and she said, taking off her gloves, “Fine by me. You going to go hang out with your best friend Melody?”

Mom and Berk had got home late the night before and she saw me sitting with Melody. Melody had shown me some of her tricks on her unicycle which she really was so good at and then she’d braided my hair into a fishtail which I like very much and when Mom got out of the car we were laughing and Mom said, “What’s going on here?”

And Melody stood up and said, “Hey, LeAnn.”

And Mom said, “Take Berkeley inside the house, Liv. It’s time for dinner.”

And I looked at Melody who was saying, “It’s okay. We had a good time.”

And Mom said, “It’s not okay, Melody. She should’ve been inside doing homework. Has she been out here long?” Mom was using a nasty voice and even though my mom is tired and can yell sometimes, she’s not nasty.

I didn’t get this. Whatever was going on, I didn’t get it.

Why was she mean to Melody? Weren’t they sort of the same in some ways? Both their husbands gone?

And now she was saying to me, “You going to hang out with your best friend Melody?”

I said, “Maybe.”

And she said, “Fine by me.”

She stood up. Even in her old sweats and Justin Bieber T-shirt from the thrift store, she looked nice. Not fancy like Melody but beautiful. Like someone who should be a good mom.

She used to be a good mom, I think.

But now . . .

“Berkeley,” she yelled. “Let’s go.”

“Aren’t you going to get dressed?” I asked her.

“I am dressed.”

“You’re going to wear that?”

“Yep.”

I said, “Oh.”

I guess I thought she’d take time to get ready like she always did and then we’d talk and she’d ask why I didn’t want to go and then I’d say, “No. I don’t want to tell you,” and then she’d say, “I’m your mother. Please. You can tell me anything,” and then she’d beg me and then we’d hug and go eat Egg McMuffins and orange juice and apple in-my-mouth pie.

But instead she and my sister put on their shoes, held hands, and went out the door, Berkeley turning to look at me just as it shut.

I watched the Pontiac drive out of the neighborhood.

They left without me.