"Get out of my house!"
"She doesn't have anywhere else!" I shouted back, voice raw from five years of being pushed into silence.
"Then go sleep under a bridge," Karen Patterson said, smiling like she was naming a dessert. "We don't need your problems in Mariner Heights."
Jocelyn clapped once, polite and loud. "It'll be better for everyone, Mallory. Really."
Graham, my father, planted his heel on the rug and aimed it at me. "Pack up and leave. Tonight."
"I did nothing wrong," I said. "I didn't—"
"You dared to answer me?" Karen's hand swung and hit my cheek before I could finish the sentence.
The slap burned more than the sting. It burned because it meant she could do what she wanted and no one would stop her.
"Don't," I told her, one word. I stepped forward. "Don't say—"
Graham shoved me hard. I stumbled into a side table. Glass trembled. Karen laughed and walked over to kick at my shoe.
"Stop it!" I grabbed Karen's wrist. My fingers were shaking. I held on because I could not let them think I would always curl and disappear.
Jocelyn moved like a shadow. She pulled at my sleeve and smiled. "Mallory, be reasonable. Don't make this ugly."
"Make this ugly?" I spat. "You took my scholarship letters. You took my clothes. You sold the piano. Ugly is what this family does for sport."
"You lie," Karen said.
"She lies," Jocelyn agreed
