“And driving without helmets? Judas, what the fuck?” His hands fly, fists tight, then one finger snaps forward as he steps closer. He points straight at Carmen. “This is all your fault. You are a bad influence.”
I move fast, stepping between them, my hands spread wide.
I am the one to blame. I took her out.I sign to him.
“Don’t protect her,” he shouts, signing just as hard. “I knew it was a bad idea to adopta problem.”
Before I can respond, Carmen shoves past me. She plants herself in front of him, her voice exploding.
“Then why the fuck did you do it, huh? I was doing fine in juvie before you all messed that up.”
“You’re right, Carmen,” he says. “You were doing so great, you tried to kill yourself.”
The words hit like a punch.
She tried what?
I turn to Carmen. Her eyes drop to the floor. Her shoulders fold inward, shame pulling her down.
What the fuck, Dad?I sign.Why would you say that?
She asked for it,he signs back, his mouth silent.
“Maybe I should go back then,” she snaps. “Finish what I started.”
She shoves him aside and runs, disappearing behind the garage toward the garden.
Father of the year,I sign, clapping my hands together once.
Then I turn and run after her.
I can’t shout. All I can do is sprint towards her.
I reach for her hand. She jerks away and moves faster, racing for the door. Inside, Mom stands at the bottom of the stairs inher pajamas, glasses crooked on her nose, a glass of red wine in her hand.
“Where...?” She starts to say something as she stares at us, but we rush past her and up the steps.
Carmen throws open her bedroom door. I grab for the handle, but she slams it shut and locks it before I can reach it.
The click of the lock stays in my ears.
Fuuck. I wish I could shout at her.
I move to my bedroom door and slip inside. As soon as I close it, I rush straight to the balcony. I grip the railing, step onto the edge, and cross over to hers.
Her balcony door is wide open. She is grabbing her navy blue sweatpants and the shirt she wore when she arrived, stuffing everything into a small plastic bag with her fists clenched tightly around the fabric.
“Go away, Judas,” she says as she ties the bag handles into a knot.
Little sister,I sign.
She looks at me.
“I am not your sister, Judas,” she sighs. “And obviously, I am not welcome here.”
I step closer, snatch the plastic bag, and lift it over my head. She jumps, reaching for it, but I am tall enough that her fingers grasp at air.
“Damn it. I hate you, Judas Harrington. Why can’t you just let me be?” She slams her hands into my chest.
