“Lyric, I need to speak to you,” he says, gesturing out into our tiny living-slash-dining-slash-closet room. I follow and close the door behind me.
“I hope I don’t have to tell you how important it is for you to keep your head down today,” he lectures in a low voice.
“You don’t.”
“Lyric, don’t give me attitude. This is serious.”
“Dad, I know,” I say, squeezing past him to the kitchen, where there is more room.
“Keep your distance. Don’t get involved. Don’t try to be nice. Don’t talk to the new kids. Just go about your business.”
“I know!” I snap. How many times is he going to deliver this lecture?
“I need to be sure,” he hollers.
My mother enters from her bedroom. Her raven hair is tied up, and her face freshly scrubbed. She looks tired but still beautiful. “Don’t fight while Bex is here,” she begs us.
“Sorry, but I’ve heard this speech a million times.”
“Cut me a break, Lyric, today of all days,” my father whispers.
“Cut me a break. I’m the one who has to go there,” I cry, then turn my attention to my mother. “Why are you still in your pj’s? You should get dressed.”
She lowers her eyes and shifts from one foot to the next. It’s a sad little dance she does when she’s upset.
“You’re not coming,” I say. I’m crushed and don’t care to hide it.
She inhales deeply and looks at my father “I want to, but—”
My irritation turns to rage and I roast him with my gaze. “Just forget it.”
“It’s too dangerous,” my father explains. “There will be police and military everywhere, and then the kids, too. She could be recognized.”
“Leonard, no one has identified me yet,” she says.
“The feds tracked almost all your friends down, Summer, and each one of them disappeared, along with their families. It’s just you and Angela Benningford now. We can’t take the risk.”
My mother winces like she’s been slapped. “Am I going to miss her graduation?”
“You’re being ridiculous, Summer.”
“What about when she gets married?” she groans.
“Summer.”
“Are you going to let me see my grandchildren?” she cries.
My father throws up his hands. “You’re not a prisoner here. We can always leave, Summer. If we left, we could have normal lives. I have friends at the blockade who could help us get out even without identification. We could start over in Denver, or—”
“Shhhh!” I point at my bedroom door, quietly dreading that Bex will burst through it with a million questions. It’s a miracle that she hasn’t figured us out yet; the girl who hides in ugly clothes, the mom who never leaves the house, the father who lives on the edge of panic. I wait, but there is no burst, no million questions. She’s probably too busy liberating more of my clothes.
“I’m sorry,” my father whispers. “I saw Terrance Lir last night. He’s escorting the children to school and acting as a spokesperson.”
“Is Rochelle with him? And Samuel?”
My father nods. “They’re all back. There are men with them too. They look like Secret Service.”
“Where have they been?” I ask.
My father looks at his feet. There are rumors of prison camps, detention centers, mass graves even, but no one knows for sure. All we know is that most of Mom’s friends have vanished, and if we’re discovered, so will we.
“I don’t know, but they look horrible—skinny as sticks and wearing the same clothes they had on the day they disappeared.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“Summer, I can’t! If someone saw us talking, they might make the connection.”
“But he can tell us about my family,” my mother begs.
My father shakes his head. “It’s best if we keep our distance, especially you, Lyric. He’s going to be in the school every day. He’s probably going to reach out to you, but you have to avoid him. You can’t let anyone think you know him.”
“You want me to ignore him?” This hurts my heart. Terrance Lir was like an uncle to me when I was little. When he and his family disappeared, we cried for days. I can’t imagine turning my back on him, especially if he’s been suffering.
My mother pulls me into a hug and squeezes like I am never coming home again. Her kiss leaves a wet ring of electricity on my cheek. “Be careful, and don’t forget to breathe.”
“You too.”
She smiles at me. It’s a crumpled thing, too small for her face. I remember when it used to shine like a star, fueled by her endless joy, but now it’s running on fumes. She can’t even muster enough power to bring her eyes along for the ride.
My father goes to his room and returns with his gun. While I eat cereal, he checks the clip to see that it’s loaded, reinserts it, and clicks off the safety. He double-checks the charge on his Taser and gives two canisters of pepper spray good shakes before putting them in his pockets. Then he turns to me.
“Get Bex. It’s time to go to school.”
Chapter Three