Resilient by Patricia Vanasse Page A

the chair behind him. He stares at me, his lips slightly parted, as if he’s in shock.
    I can’t be bothered with him, though, and I turn away. “Dad? Is everything okay?”
    “Adam.” Dad takes a deep breath. “What do you want?”
    “Uh, I—I need a ride home.” I look at him, apprehensive. “Do you need me to call security?”
    “No. Mr. Stevens was just leaving.”
    Mr. Stevens, who is still sitting and staring at me, nods. He pulls himself upright. “This isn’t over,” he says, shuffling out the door. He casts one last look at me over his shoulder and then shuts the door behind him.
    “Adam,” Dad’s voice is low and rough, “take my car. I still have work to do.” 
    I look at Dad with amazement. I can’t believe he chooses to tell me nothing, not even after what was said in here. 
    “I’ll get a cab, son. Go! I’ve had enough interruptions today.”
    I leave Dad’s office without saying goodbye. 
    *                            *                              *
    I get home and Mom is setting the dinner table. I don’t really feel like eating, but I take my place at the table like everyone else.
    “So, how is she feeling?” Mom asks.
    “She’ll be fine,” I say. “Two months in a cast.”
    “How did that happen?” Mom raises her eyebrow at me. “I thought Aphrodite was doing well on her training.”
    “Aphrodite’s refusing to stop when told. I’ve been working on it, but her attitude has been inconsistent. That’s why she’s not fully trained yet.”
    “Well maybe we should have Alo get the job done.” 
    “Mom!” Kevin says. “That wasn’t Adam’s fault.”
    “I didn’t say it was. I just think that Adam will have a lot on his plate with school starting next week. Alo could finish the job.”
    “Mom is right,” I grunt, not bothering to hide my irritation. “Alo will get it done since I obviously didn’t do the job well enough.” I get up and dash to my room.
    “Adam, come back here!” Mom shouts. I just keep on walking until I lock the bedroom door behind me. That’s my family for you. Twist the knife without ever raising a voice. 
    Mom is not wrong, and that only irritates me more. I know Livia’s accident is my fault; I don’t need the implications.

9 Livia

    It’s three o’clock in the morning and I need to pee, but there is no way I can walk to the bathroom by myself. If I move one inch, the pain shoots up all the way to my back. The meds must be wearing off. I pick up my phone from my nightstand and I dial Mom’s number.
    “Be right there,” Mom says, voice thick with sleep. In a second she is opening my bedroom door.
    “What is it? Are you feeling okay?”
    “I can’t seem to be able to get out of the bed by myself.”
    “Neither should you try. Here, let me help you.” 
    She puts my arm around her shoulders and helps me walk to the bathroom. She waits to bring me back to bed, and when she does she’s more frantic than ever. 
    “Does it hurt?” she frets. “I’ll go get some ibuprofen.”
    It does hurt, but I don’t want to complain or worry her more. I brought this on myself and I don’t want to make my parents feel bad for me. I especially don’t want Dad thinking that it’s his fault, since he was the one who bought Aphrodite—his guilt is already on a hair-trigger. I could see in Adam’s eyes that he blames himself and I don’t need anyone to feel worse than they already do. Their guilt pressing in on all sides is the last thing I need.
    Mom lays me back down on my bed and I close my eyes so she’ll feel it’s safe to leave. I don’t like her being around, reminding me that I’m the one causing her pain, or the reminder that the choices I make affect everyone around me.
    *                            *                              *
    I wake up to a knock on my bedroom door. “Come on in,” I say, wishing I could sleep some more. Dad opens the door, holding a