“Why haven’t you brought your bed downstairs already?”

“Just to piss off Blake after he threw all my shit out into the hallway. Keeping him inconvenienced for as long as possible.”

She laughs. “Sounds like he deserves it. What’s up, anyway?”

I study her face. “You can’t tell anybody. I’m not supposed to know.”

She nods emphatically. “Promise.”

“Blake thinks . . .” Ugh, I can’t say it. I take a breath.

“What?”

“He doesn’t think I’m really his brother. He doesn’t think I’m Ethan.”

Cami stares. “Are you kidding me? What the hell is wrong with him?”

“He’s having a tough time,” I say, and for a second, I almost feel bad for him.

“I had no idea,” Cami says. “I just thought he was jealous.”

“Yeah, there’s that, too,” I say.

“You have been getting a lot of attention lately, but still.”

“I know, right?”

She shakes her head, the little balls at the top of her wool hat jiggling. “I’m sorry, Eth. That must feel like total crap. What did your parents say?”

“They don’t know I know. I heard them talking after we went to the shrink yesterday.”

She gives me a quizzical look.

“Family shrink. To help us all deal with everything.”

“It’s good you’re going. Seems like you’re doing better now that you’re back in school, right?”

I grin. “It was kind of a rough start. Getting smoother.”

“So smooth that you want to go to the game? Sit with me?” She bats her eyelashes.

My jaw drops. “You are evil,” I say. “Flirting behind your boyfriend’s back.”

She tilts her head and smiles. “Is that what I’m doing?”

“Evil. I’ve got to go. Work on my room. Yeah.” I take a few steps backward, just getting one more look at her, and then I turn and fly down the street to my house.

When I get home, I find out that Dad took a half day and has all the sanding done and the walls primed for paint, which is extremely awesome. I think they are feeling pretty bad. Mama didn’t even yell at me for not calling after being five minutes late getting home.

I let Gracie help me paint while Dad gets the hinges on the doorframe. I actually know how to do this task. Ellen and I painted one of the crappy apartments we lived in. The landlord got some light pink paint really cheap and said if we painted, we could move in right away and he’d take some money off the rent. So we did it. Here, it’s basic tan, no frills, no fancy colors. Gracie gets her footie pajamas on and then stays up late “helping,” and Mama brings us pizza so we can keep working.

By eleven, the paint is drying, the drop cloths are picked up, the floor is clean, the baseboards are up, and the nail holes are puttied. Gracie’s asleep on my quilt over by the pool table, and I have a bedroom. It’s huge and I love it. I grin at Dad and he claps me on the back. “Thanks, Dad,” I say. “This is awesome.”

He smiles. “We’re getting there.”

As Dad puts paint supplies away and takes care of the brushes, I pick up Gracie to take her to her bedroom. She’s a little lump in my arms, sucking her thumb even though she’s not supposed to anymore. It’s cute. She wraps her other arm around my neck, her head on my shoulder. Never waking up.

Mama’s asleep on the couch, a book on her chest and the TV on low. Blake’s door is cracked open and his light is on, and I’m tempted to take the bed apart tonight and set it up in my room, but I know Dad’s tired and so am I. One more night on the floor won’t kill me. I walk into Gracie’s dark room and lay her down, tucking her in under the blankets. She’s zonked. It makes me happy, you know? To see a little kid all asleep like that, all peaceful, sucking her thumb, her hair a big frizz-mop. . . . It’s so calming. I look at her for another minute, feeling all Zen and smiling, and then a shadow hits the doorway.

I look up and it’s Blake, glaring at me, shattering the peace with the look on his face.

“You stay away from her,” he whispers.

CHAPTER 34

“Fuck off.” I leave Gracie’s room, closing the door, and Blake is already down the hallway ahead of me, disappearing into his room. I hesitate at his door, and then realize how not worth it that is. At eleven p.m., with Mama asleep and Dad having spent so much time helping me with my room, I figure avoiding controversy is best.

When I wake up Saturday morning, I look out the slider door and see the sun for the first time since I’ve been here, I think. Above me, I hear the thunder of little feet, and it sounds like there’s a small herd of antelope up there. Either that or Gracie’s dancing to Saturday-morning TV shows. I drag my butt to the shower and get ready to move into my room.

By the time I’m dressed, Dad and Blake are coming down the stairs with my bed. Blake must really want all traces of me out of his room if he’s willing to help, and I grin to myself. I pretend to be busy in the bathroom and let them haul it all down—my muscles are sore from painting.

When I emerge, I can hear Dad putting the bed frame together, and Blake’s standing over by the pool table, looking at my collage of photos. I feel a sudden surge of protectiveness and I don’t want Blake touching them. I know it’s weird, but I don’t want his angry vibes around my stuff. Even though technically he’s in the pictures too, so I guess they aren’t mine, but still. I need them more than he does.