tuck her into bed. To tell her sheâs good and pretty and loved. Help her with her homework. And tell her that everythingâs going to be okay.
Life is unfair. Everybody knows that. Teachers and parents say it all the time. But if everyone knows it, why do they let it happen?
Why doesnât somebody do something about it?
Life wouldnât be so unfair if people did something about it.
I know that what my mother did was a lot worse than throwing a pencil. She left her daughter alone in an apartment and went with her husband to hold up a store, because he asked her to, and someone who didnât deserve to, someone who was totally innocent, lost their life.
No, some one didnât lose their life that day.
Two people did.
Josh Tipps. And me. I lost the life I was supposed to have that day too.
Maybe if she hadnât gone, Nick wouldnât have gone. Maybe if she had just been a little stronger and said, No, this isnât right , he wouldnât have done it. At least not that night, not the night that Margalitâs brother, Josh, was working behind the counter.
Maybe if my mother had loved me more than she wanted Nick to love her, none of this would have happened at all. If my mother loved me at all, she wouldnât have let this happen.
I hate her now for not loving me enough. I hate myself for not being lovable enough.
I hear that sound, the door cranking open. And there she is, walking in through the door behind the big desk where Officer Rubins is sitting, the big desk with the paper chimney.
I am angry. I am so angry. Itâs not going to work.
My mother ruined my life and itâs only going to get worse. The first best friend Iâve ever had is going to find out who I really am. Sheâs going to find out what my mother did. Sooner or later sheâs bound to find out.
And then sheâll hate me forever and I didnât even do anything.
And even if Margalit never finds out, Iâll know. Iâll know that Iâm lying to my best friend every day.
My mother doesnât see us right away. She walks into the visitorsâ room and I watch her looking all around. She is, of course, in green, all green. Visitors are not allowed to wear green, but thatâs not a problem for me. Iâve made sure I donât own one green thing. Not a shirt, or a sweater, a sweatshirt, or pants. Not even green socks.
My motherâs hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail. She looks young, I think. Younger than other moms Iâve seen at school. Iâve only ever seen her this way. Her hair up or her hair down. Sometimes she wears a little makeup. Sometimes none at all. But always in green. She doesnât seem to get older. But I have.
She hasnât seen us yet, because usually I call out her name and start waving from my seat. Today I canât. My inside and my outside are colliding. Everything is about to spill over the top, making a mess on the stovetop.
And I make a little sound, that same little gasp that came out of Larissaâs mouth when she saw her mom come into the room. It comes from a place that is so deep, so old, and so wounded. It just escapes from your heart without your consent. Like finding a piece of your own body that was broken off and now, there you see it. Itâs so close. There it is.
My mom sees us.
I can tell by the look on her face, even from this far across the whole room: recognition. She knows me.
I am her daughter.
And she is my mother.
And Rebecca? Where is she now? She didnât keep anything inside and look where that got her. Look how it hurt her. I imagine her on the streets somewhere, all alone. Just standing there, waiting. Except no one knows where she, is so sheâs waiting for nothing.
My mother is walking this way. She has a big smile on her face.
And Tevin?
I do miss Tevin. He was always so hopeful. It was infectious, like he would never give up and he never had to. Not in my mind, where he lives now. In
Life is unfair. Everybody knows that. Teachers and parents say it all the time. But if everyone knows it, why do they let it happen?
Why doesnât somebody do something about it?
Life wouldnât be so unfair if people did something about it.
I know that what my mother did was a lot worse than throwing a pencil. She left her daughter alone in an apartment and went with her husband to hold up a store, because he asked her to, and someone who didnât deserve to, someone who was totally innocent, lost their life.
No, some one didnât lose their life that day.
Two people did.
Josh Tipps. And me. I lost the life I was supposed to have that day too.
Maybe if she hadnât gone, Nick wouldnât have gone. Maybe if she had just been a little stronger and said, No, this isnât right , he wouldnât have done it. At least not that night, not the night that Margalitâs brother, Josh, was working behind the counter.
Maybe if my mother had loved me more than she wanted Nick to love her, none of this would have happened at all. If my mother loved me at all, she wouldnât have let this happen.
I hate her now for not loving me enough. I hate myself for not being lovable enough.
I hear that sound, the door cranking open. And there she is, walking in through the door behind the big desk where Officer Rubins is sitting, the big desk with the paper chimney.
I am angry. I am so angry. Itâs not going to work.
My mother ruined my life and itâs only going to get worse. The first best friend Iâve ever had is going to find out who I really am. Sheâs going to find out what my mother did. Sooner or later sheâs bound to find out.
And then sheâll hate me forever and I didnât even do anything.
And even if Margalit never finds out, Iâll know. Iâll know that Iâm lying to my best friend every day.
My mother doesnât see us right away. She walks into the visitorsâ room and I watch her looking all around. She is, of course, in green, all green. Visitors are not allowed to wear green, but thatâs not a problem for me. Iâve made sure I donât own one green thing. Not a shirt, or a sweater, a sweatshirt, or pants. Not even green socks.
My motherâs hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail. She looks young, I think. Younger than other moms Iâve seen at school. Iâve only ever seen her this way. Her hair up or her hair down. Sometimes she wears a little makeup. Sometimes none at all. But always in green. She doesnât seem to get older. But I have.
She hasnât seen us yet, because usually I call out her name and start waving from my seat. Today I canât. My inside and my outside are colliding. Everything is about to spill over the top, making a mess on the stovetop.
And I make a little sound, that same little gasp that came out of Larissaâs mouth when she saw her mom come into the room. It comes from a place that is so deep, so old, and so wounded. It just escapes from your heart without your consent. Like finding a piece of your own body that was broken off and now, there you see it. Itâs so close. There it is.
My mom sees us.
I can tell by the look on her face, even from this far across the whole room: recognition. She knows me.
I am her daughter.
And she is my mother.
And Rebecca? Where is she now? She didnât keep anything inside and look where that got her. Look how it hurt her. I imagine her on the streets somewhere, all alone. Just standing there, waiting. Except no one knows where she, is so sheâs waiting for nothing.
My mother is walking this way. She has a big smile on her face.
And Tevin?
I do miss Tevin. He was always so hopeful. It was infectious, like he would never give up and he never had to. Not in my mind, where he lives now. In
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