I blinked, saying nothing, certain I’d heard her wrong.
Laney groaned. “That is so lame. She doesn’t want my old hand-me-downs.”
“Nonsense.” Her mom tapped on the screen. “We already set the password to your birthday. 0614. June fourteenth.”
I stared at Mrs. Lannister, eyes wide.
“Tiffany, stop,” Laney said sharply. “Can’t you see you’re making her uncomfortable? She already feels weird enough. She doesn’t need you making things weirder.”
Weird?
I turned to Laney, gaping. I mean, yes, I was the only almost-fifteen-year-old I knew who still didn’t have a cell phone. But I simply couldn’t believe the Lannisters were willing to give me a phonefor free—even one that only worked with Wi-Fi.
My hopes skyrocketed, imagining the freedom and escape that phone would provide. I could finally text people. If there were a group project, I could actually be part of the conversation. And I could get TikTok and Instagram! Which meant I could finally comment on my friends’ posts. And I could stay connected to Laney and everyone from school after I left tomorrow.
And tomorrow night, when I was somewhere new and missing everything and everyone familiar, I could listen to Griffin’s voice some more. Maybe I could even see what he looked like. The thought brought a wave of relief I hadn’t felt since…I couldn’t even remember.
I glanced back at Mrs. Lannister, overwhelmed and relieved by the gift. But Laney’s protests, growing sharper and louder by the second, lodged the words, ‘yes, I’d love to have the phone,’ in my throat.
“Seriously. So lame,” Laney snapped. “You’ve humiliated her now. Just go.” She shooed her away. “Leave us be.”
Mrs. Lannister’s cheeks heated, but she wasn’t the kind of mom to punish or put her child in their place. She was a people-pleaser, Laney always said, as if it were the worst thing aperson could possibly be. She stepped back, slipped the phone into her pocket, and padded down the hallway.
“Oh my gosh.” Laney looked at the ceiling as if asking God for patience. “I’m so sorry about her. Sometimes, I can’t even believe she’s my mom. Like, how are we even related?”
My eyes burned with hot tears, and I slipped onto the sleeping bag, pretending to dig through my backpack, looking for absolutely nothing.
“She’s so embarrassing and ridiculous. I’m going to do it,” she huffed. “That thing we talked about.”
I made a noise of agreement, no idea what she was referring to.
“Eman-see-uh. No, that’s not right. Emanci-patient.” She swore. “Emanci-pants.” She giggled. Giggled!
“Emancipation?” I asked, sick at the word, and sicker at myself for having such a friend.
Here I was, willing to give up every ounce of self-respect just for one crappy relationship—and she wanted to emancipate herself?
The Lannisters were the kind of parents nineteen-sixties TV shows were made of—like the Taylors of Mayberry. Or the Cleavers. They took Laney on vacation. To foreign countries. And they bought her an entire back-to-school wardrobe every year, not from the thrift store. They had dinner together every night, and Mrs. Lannister made breakfast every morning. Actual breakfast—pancakes, omelets, things with names. The only breakfast I ever got was the free one in the school cafeteria, which I’d stopped eating because it embarrassed Laney.
Laney shrieked with delight, completely oblivious. “Oh my gosh, he posted another one already. Julie-Bean, come look.”
“Hold on.” I sniffed, suddenly despising the nickname she’d given me. I turned away, using my hair as a shield so shecouldn’t see the tears rolling down my cheeks, and held up a tampon. “Be right back.”
“Of course, girl.” She yawned. “Do what you gotta do. I’m not going anywhere,” she tittered, clearly still focused on Elias’s reel.
I took my time in the bathroom, crying silently until my sides ached. Then, I washed my face twice with Laney’s Sephora face wash. I flossed my teeth, plucked my eyebrows until they were on point, shaved my legs, rubbed lotion over my entire body, and clipped my toenails.
When I emerged forty-five minutes later, Laney was sound asleep with a silk mask over her eyes. Her touch lamp was on the lowest setting, a soft glow washing over her face.
I looked down at her, feeling something I didn’t have a word for—not quite hate, not quite love, somewhere exhausting in between—and said a silent goodbye. Then I quietly rolled up the sleeping bag, tucked it under her bed, and slipped into the hall. I padded down the carpeted stairs with my backpack over my shoulders, careful not to wake Laney’s parents.
But when I got to the foyer, both Mr. and Mrs. Lannister were on the couch, heads together, talking softly. They glanced over, and Mrs. Lannister smiled, though her eyes were red from crying. Mr. Lannister pressed a kiss to her hair. What I would’ve given for parents who loved each other like that.
What I would’ve given for parents at all.
Mrs. Lannister stood and walked over to me. “Is everything okay? I thought you were sleeping over?”
“Oh.” I aimed for a breezy smile. “I was. But Emry keeps texting Laney that she misses me.” The last part was probably true. Emry was my three-year-old foster sister who crawled into bed with me every night and who’d bawled when she’d found out I was leaving. “I’m going to head home and have a sleepover with her tonight.”
