Page 10 of The Silence Between

“Respect?” The word tasted bitter. “You left three kids alone for two days. Mari's been missing school to take care of Sophie and Diego. There's no food, no heat.”

“You think I don't know that?” Dad's voice rose. “You think I like this? You think I wanted to end up like this?”

“Miguel, please,” Mom pleaded. “The children are sleeping.”

“You have to choose,” I said, the words heavy as stones. “The pills or us.”

Dad's face twisted, rage and shame battling across his features. He grabbed my shirt, pushing me against the wall hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.

“You don't tell me what to do in my own house,” he hissed, his face inches from mine. “You're the child. I'm the father.”

Mom pulled at his arm, murmuring incoherently for peace, for calm. He shook her off, his grip on my shirt tightening.

With shaking hands, I reached into my pocket and pulled out all the cash I'd been saving—almost two hundred dollars from my weekend job, money that was supposed to pay for the debate team trip to Portland next month.

“Here,” I said flatly. “Get what you need. But come back sober.”

Dad's grip loosened as he stared at the money. Slowly, he took it, something like shame flickering across his face before the need won out.

“We'll be back soon,” Mom whispered, not meeting my eyes. “I'll bring food.”

They left as quickly as they'd arrived, the door closing behind them with a soft click that somehow hurt worse than any slam.

In the empty kitchen, I stood motionless, listening to the quiet breathing of my siblings from the bedroom. The weight of everything settled over me like wet concrete, hardening around my limbs, making it difficult to move, to breathe, to think beyond the next immediate need.

My hand found its way to my pocket, fingers closing around a small, smooth object—the painted stone Mom had given me on my first day at Riverton High.

Para valor. For courage.

The hummingbird's colors had faded from handling, the wings barely visible now. Like Mom's smile. Like our family. Like any hope of things ever getting better.

I clutched it until the edges bit into my palm, wondering how much courage it would take to keep going, to hold what remained of our family together. Wondering if I had enough.

Outside, snow began to fall, soft and indifferent, on the dark streets of The Hollows.

3

COLLISION COURSE

ETHAN

JUNIOR YEAR

College brochures stared at me from my desk, their glossy pages heavy with expectations. Princeton's orange and black. Harvard's crimson. Yale's blue. A rainbow of futures, all pre-selected for me since before I could read.

I pushed aside my SAT practice test—three hours of mind-numbing multiple choice that would somehow determine whether I was worthy of my father's alma mater. The familiar knot in my stomach tightened as I glanced at the clock. Seven hundred and twenty-six days until college applications were due. Seven hundred and twenty-six days of this suffocating pressure.

My bedroom door opened without a knock. Dad appeared, his reading glasses perched on his nose, another Princeton alumni magazine in his hand.

“Thought you might want to see this,” he said, placing it atop my practice test. “They've profiled some fascinating young alumni. One just clerked for the Supreme Court.” He paused, letting the implication hang in the air between us. “Just something to aspire to.”

Just something to aspire to. As if Supreme Court clerks grew on trees in our backyard.

“Thanks, Dad,” I said, forcing a smile I didn't feel. “I'll check it out.”

He lingered, glancing at my abandoned practice test. “How's the studying coming along?”

“Good. I'm averaging 1520 on the practice exams.”

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