I hug dad tight. “We promise we’ll behave. Won’t we, Percy?”
Percy licks my hand, then curls up on my lap. I giggle and stroke his fur until his eyes droop. The sun is still high, and the grass feels soft and warm. A nap sounds perfect.
Dad kisses my forehead, then stands. He has the night shift again. “Behave tonight, sweetheart. Please.”
“Pinky promise!”
I lie back on the lawn, Percy climbing onto my chest with his muzzle pressed against my neck. I wrap my arms around him, close my eyes, and let the sun cradle us both to sleep.
-*?? . ??? ? ?.-*??
Last night it was very hot, and Percy barked so much that he woke up my mother. She came into my room like a fury while I was trying to calm him down, chased him away, and I burst into tears when the five fingers of her hand stamped hard on my cheek.
She forced me down onto the bed, pulling me by the tail of my pajamas, then sat astride me and filled my arms with painful pinches. All the while she told me to stop crying, to shut up, to quit looking like a fountain.
At that very moment I hated the short-sleeved pajamas I was wearing, even though Tinker Bell’s smiling face was printed on them and they were my favorite. I couldn’t move. I didn’t have the strength to defend myself. I could only mutter a desperateapology when she finally got up and went back to sleep, leaving me shivering in the darkness of my room.
I hate crying. I wish I could vent what I feel and be heard through anger instead of tears. I wish to be respected. I wish she would see me as a human being. I wish I could stop being her personal outlet for anger.
When Percy returned to my room, he curled up in my bed next to me and fell asleep shortly after. I didn’t sleep a wink all night. I was too terrified. I just watched over him and over myself, counting the bright stars hanging from the ceiling.
This morning, I went to the bathroom to clean up the mess left from last night before Dad returned. I washed my face and rummaged through my mother’s makeup box, searching for foundation to hide the bruise on my arm. I didn’t have enough time to cover it before I heard his voice from downstairs.
I ran down the stairs to meet him and jumped into his arms. When he noticed the bruise, I told him I’d slammed my arm against the nightstand—and he believed me. I saw it in his eyes: his little girl would never lie. And while I was proud of being a good liar, a part of me wished I had someone who could read me with just a glance, someone who could see straight through the lies and into the truth I was hiding.
I wish I had someone who would hug me and care about me. Someone who would notice something was wrong, just like Percy and Olivia do. Animals always understand when a person is in pain and offer all the support they can. Humans don’t. I’ve always felt safer surrounded by animals. They don’t think I’m crazy, they don’t blame me for everything, and they don’t force me to lie.
When my mother came downstairs, she smiled and pulled me into a hug. I returned it shyly while Percy barked and spent the morning playing in the garden shed.
I spent the whole lunch talking animatedly with Dad, trying to ignore her. I didn’t feel able to speak to her, and I would have blown my cover in front of him if I had.
Now, my mother is upstairs sleeping—she’s always tired lately—while I sit on the porch steps with Percy on my lap and a lemon popsicle in my hand.
Dad told me not to make a racket, so I’m trying hard to be quiet. I don’t want Mom to wake up and start yelling, not with him sitting right there.
Dad is sitting in the rocking chair, talking on the phone with Mr. Cooper. He insisted we wait outside to greet them properly. We’ve been waiting for almost an hour, but I expected that. It’s San Francisco in late July; the streets are always busy.
I’m curious about the surprise, but I’m also bored out of my mind. I’d rather go play at Grandma’s house. I lick a trickle of ice cream running down my hand.
“I’m tired, daddy! How much longer do we have to wait?” I mouth silently.
“A little bit,” Dad mimes back, listening to the voice on the other end of the line. He said the same thing half an hour ago.
Just as I open my mouth again to complain, a gray car pulls into the Coopers’ driveway.
“They’re here!” I shout, excited.
I jump up, popsicle in hand, Percy at my heels, and rush toward the car. Daniel Cooper, Dad’s friend, steps out.
“Mr. Cooper!” I run up to him.
Daniel picks me up as soon as he hears my voice. His carrot-colored curls tickle my face. After a moment, he sets me down.
“How are you, Nova? I’ve missed hearing your voice. And how’s my little Percy?”
Daniel bends to greet his dog, who has been waiting eagerly for him. Chris Cooper, Daniel’s husband, joins us andspreads his arms wide. “How’s the brightest ray of sunshine of California?”
I smile instinctively and hug him tightly.
