I used to enjoy spending time with my parents—hugging them and playing board games. I even loved having them help me with homework, because not only did it mean I'd pass, it meant I had their full attention.

Tonight though, I wish my teacher hadn't emailed my mom. All I wanna do is lay down and scroll on TikTok until I fall asleep, but Dad refuses to relent. I told him I didn't type up the papers for the project and he switched from caring to enraged.

"You lied to me and your mother," he yells with wide eyes and a slack jaw. I keep my head down and hold my knees to my chest. My heart vibrates against my oversized T-shirt.

My eyes glaze over and linger on my desolate aquarium. The fish are hiding but I notice the seahorses crowding different corners of the tank, all practically avoiding the middle.

I brush it off, thinking Dad's scaring them as much as he's scaring me.

"Are you gonna explain yourself or just sit there like I'm not talking to you?" I glance at him, then at the trifold board laid out between us.

My voice cracks as I mumble, "I'm sorry." I raise my shoulders to my ears, staring at the translucent bag and its green logo. "I was gonna do it, but," I trail off, my foggy mind unable to come up with an excuse.

Three knocks on the door steal my attention, but his eyes remain on me.

"What," I call out, and the door opens. Jodi peeks her head in, and I roll my eyes onto the full grocery bag.

"Mom told me to tell you that the food's done, and we're setting the table." Dad monotonously thanks her, still not sparing a glance in her direction. She cuts her eyes at me, then shuts the door.

Dad takes a deep breath, shutting his eyes to collect himself. Looking at me, he softens his tone and asks, "Why didn't you get started on it?"

"I don't know," I mumble, my lower lip pouting and the corners of my mouth drooping. I flick my eyes onto his then back to the floor. He doesn't respond, so I continue, "I'm just—tired. Everyday, I'm really, really tired." Keenan's face flashes before me. My heart thumps and skips, then sinks when I hear his stern voice saying random words. Mine cracks and my lips twitch as I say, "I'm just—I miss my friend."

"Leila, can I speak to you alone?" I stare at the scoreboard with an empty expression. I take a deep breath as Troy walks back onto the court. Keenan sits in his seat, again, and I look at him. "You need to leave that boy alone."

"You need to get out of my face." He cracks a smile.

"I don't need to do anything but be black and die," he says and I roll my eyes. "I'm telling you this because I care about you. Don't go chasing after things that are temporary or you'll end up hurt like I did."

I narrow my eyes at him. It's all starting to make sense.

"Aren't we temporary? Isn't life temporary?" I gesture toward the space around us. "Should I just sit in a room for years until I die to avoid getting my heart broken?" He looks at our classmates going back and forth. "I'm sorry your wife died, but running from that won't make her come back," I say. He returns his attention to me as I continue, "and it won't make grieving any easier."

He doesn't say anything. I notice his eyes getting misty, so I set my hand on his shoulder. I squeeze it and it feels like I'm wringing out a wet cloth, but I don't let my disgust stop me from putting that hand on his other arm. I hug him to my side and we rest our heads on each other.

"It'll be okay," I say in a softertone. His body is vibrating against mine, so I try to stay still and strong forhim. I glance at him, noticing his eyes are shut yet tears are racing down hisface.

I push two braids behind my ears, one on each side, and further slump my shoulders.  I press my elbows against my knees and rest my forehead in my palms, pushing my brows to my hairline.

Moments like those plague me for no reason, forcing me to face a time when I was insensitive or immature. I cry more times than I cringe at each flashback, but mostly I try to fight off the memories.

Dad looks me over, pulling his mouth aside and inhaling. His posture straightens and relaxes when he exhales.

He lifts his hand to his face, then pinches his nose bridge. Shaking his head and dropping his arm, he says, "It's okay, LeeLee. Don't worry about the project; just—next time be honest with me."

***

Last night, we spent hours putting together my presentation for class tomorrow. Though he claims it's a rumor, I was adamant on noting that George Washington Carver invented peanuts.

Dad told me, "It's your project," while wiping his hands, making a resigned expression and shrugging. I know it was his way of once again showing that he didn't approve of my idea, but I was content with the suggestion and used one of the markers to make it bold.

Today was a boring, sluggish day.

They went to church with Grandma, but I stayed home. Thankfully, it didn't take me crying for them to allow it, but Amir wasn't happy with what he called female privilege.

I just wanted to sleep in—which I feel is fair since I've been depressed and exhausted almost every day—whereas, he just wanted to play Call of Duty or Grand Theft Auto until they got back.

Now, it's eight thirty-two and my phone is keeping me company.

I'm awake from my third nap in a row, dreaming about vivid memories like sitting on the log with Troy or skating around with Keenan. I dreamt of Regina, watching her dance at the house party with a smile so big it shut her eyes.

Then I woke up each time with a sinking feeling in my chest, knowing I'll never get to experience that again.

Someone knocks on my door and my ears perk up. I turn my head to the sound, my chin resting against my shoulder.

"Who is it," I ask, and Jodi answers with her name. I shut my eyes whilte taking a deep breath, then roll them onto my bright screen. I swipe through short videos on TikTok from seafood Mukbangs to slime tutorials.

"Can I come in?" She sounds annoyed, which I assume is because I didn't respond. I gaze toward the ceiling but am met with barely penetrable darkness. My neon lights try their hardest to make every object identifiable.

"Yeah, sure; whatever," I say, starting out loud but ending in a grumble. She swings the door open and scans the room. When she steps in, her sneakers are enveloped by the darkness along with everything but her eyes and white teeth.

"I was just coming in to see if you're okay." She drags her words, hardly focusing on me. It's like her eyes are struggling to adjust.

My thumb pauses mid-swipe. I narrow my eyes at nothing and tilt my head. I take a breath, seconds away from making a sarcastic remark, but I exhale and refrain. Shaking away the thought from my head, I simply say, "I'm fine," and she nods.

Bubbles popping and fish swimming are our background noises. She shifts her weight onto the other foot, rubbing one arm with the other hand.

"Um, I was gonna head to the movies with a few friends." I scrunch my lip and brows, scoff and say OK under my breath. The next video is of a pudgy, brown-skinned woman cooking chicken pasta parmesan. After a few more silent breaths, she asks, "Did you wanna go with me," and my eyes glaze over the top of my phone.

I hear my voice from three days ago, yelling and crying to everyone when Dad allowed Jodi to trespass in my room. That voice that finally had the chance to tell them how miserable and alone they've made me feel over the years.

"Leila Marie Iverson!" But there are no stars tonight, only the sound of my mom's voice going shrill. I lower my head back to earth and turn on my heels to face my parents and siblings crowding the front door.

"I just wanna thank you for buying me a vase, Jodi." I lazily lift my other hand to gesture toward her in front of our parents. She occasionally glances at her gift, her brows meeting with a crease between them. "I don't have a big speech planned out or anything, but I will say this: you, Amir, and Trey have ignored me since before I stepped into middle school. Any time you acknowledge me is to be rude and brush me off, which is insane considering I'm only a year younger than Amir."

"Leila, get in the house." I ask Dad to give me a moment, my gaze never leaving my sister's. He blinks back, then sets his hands on his hips and steps onto the porch with Mom.

"I cried so many days and nights becauseyou wouldn't take me to the mall with you," I say to Jodi, then I flick myattention from one of my brothers to the other. "Or you wouldn't take meto the park to play basketball." Trey reminds me that I don't know how tohoop, and it makes my stomach turn. Scrunching my face, I yell, "But Iwanted to go! There's a playground there too, you know!" My siblings sharea glance, all with upturned lips or one brow raised. I shut my eyes, take a fewdeep breaths, then continue in a softer tone. "Anyway, it's just insane tome that it takes my friend dying for you all to treat me like a person—to treatme like your little sister."

I let out air from my nose, my mouth twisting into a smile though I find nothing funny. Without turning my head to her, I answer, "No."

My fingers grip the cell phone like it'll slip from my palms or grow legs and run from me. They squeeze the case to the point of trembling.

"Are you sure," she presses me in a soft, whisper-like volume. I swipe the screen when it starts to loop over the porcelain dish and I'm met with a Sims mod suggestion video. "We might go get something to eat afterwards."

"I don't wanna go. Please shut the door behind you." She stares at me for a while, then mumbles OK. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her turn and walk to the door. She holds the knob, staring at me and my dark room over her shoulder.

"I'm sorry for not being there when you needed me." I stop breathing and my stomach tightens. Slowly, I drag my eyes toward her and all I see is her silhouette. "Sometimes I forget what it felt like when it was just me and Trey. I felt alone too." I purse my lips and fight them to stay still, but they tug either left or right. My nostrils flare and my eyeballs burn. "But I'm sorry. I hope you feel better, and you have my number so call if you need me. I love you."

She hesitates before saying those last three words that make my fingers loosen. The phone tumbles from my hands and knocks against my chest, sending shooting pain from shoulder to shoulder.

This feels as surreal as the time I felt disconnected from everything on Thanksgiving.

I wanna tell her that I love her too, but a part of me refuses to believe that she's being genuine. After all these years, it's not easy to just accept her acting like she's changed.

Instead of responding, I take my phone and flip onto my side with my back to her. I hold the screen to my chest and stare at the orange light casting a square across the wall above me. Her shadow pulls the door shut, throwing me back into darkness as slowly as a blanket drawing over me.

Suddenly, my body is as heavy as bricks and it sinks deeper into my mattress. A tear crawls from my left eye and glides across my nose to gather with the one exiting my right eye.

A persistent nagging feeling in my throat and stomach reminds me of when I made snarky comments that would hurt people's feelings, but I don't know why it's happening now.

I'll forgive her when she shows me that she's ready to be my sister.