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would be, sitting there like everyone else, as they all take for granted, being normal.
     
     

Chapter Seven
     
    He doesn’t mention the football game again the rest of the week. Part of me hopes he’s forgotten about it and won’t ask me again, forcing me to tell him no if he does.
    A bigger part of me is dismayed at the thought that he’s forgotten, or regrets asking me, and that he won’t ask again.
    He drives me home on Friday. Every day he has shown up in the morning. Sometimes we ride in his car, other times we walk. I like the walking better because it takes longer to get to school. Alone with him I can be myself and talk freely—or as freely as I can for someone full of secrets.
    I’m tense on Friday, filled with dread over whether he’ll ask again or not. He doesn’t say anything about it on the whole ride home, granted the drive doesn’t take all that long. So it’s with both relief and disappointment that I say goodbye as soon as he opens my door and I climb out of the car.
    “ Wait,” he says, grabbing my forearm lightly. “Did you think about the game? Will you come?”
    I can’t. Those are the words in my head, the ones I intend to say. Instead I hear myself say, “Okay.”
    What?
    His face echoes the stun in my head, but he recovers quickly.
    “ Cool. Should I pick you up at your house or…”
    “ I’ll meet you here.” Not sure how I’m going to accomplish that. My throat closes with fear.
    “ Okay. How about six-thirty?”
    I nod, not trusting myself to speak, walking quickly away instead of waiting for him to drive off like I usually do. I hurry home, wanting to finish my chores as quickly and efficiently as possible to hopefully avoid Mom’s wrath. I feel like I might throw up from the tightness that seizes me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I’m praying for something like a miracle to pull this off.
    When I get home, it’s to find Mom showering. This throws me since she never showers in the afternoon. It’s rare she showers in the morning but it’s never occurred in the afternoon.
    I stand in the kitchen, unsure of what to make of this.
    “ Kate?” she calls a few minutes later from her bedroom. At least she’s calling me “Kate” instead of “Kathryn.” When she calls me by my full name, it never ends well.
    With trepidation, I approach her bedroom door. I knock softly, and she calls for me to come in. I stare at the door with terror. I’m never allowed even near her bedroom, let alone within. My hand is on the doorknob, afraid to turn it, afraid not to.
    “ Kathryn, get in here,” she demands.
    I open the door, but stay on the threshold.
    “ There you are.” She stands in front of her closet, dressed only in underwear and a bra. I look around, wondering if I’ve stepped into some twisted version of the real world.
    “ I need your help. I’ve gotta get ready for dinner.” Like this is a usual request.
    “ Dinner?” my voice is a strangled whisper.
    “ Yes, dinner.” You idiot, is the clearly unspoken rest of that sentence. “You know what that is, right? Food you eat in the evening, after lunch, before bedtime.” Her voice is derisive.
    I’ve heard of that, yes, I just usually don’t get to have that myself. I imagine the consequences of speaking that sentence aloud. Instead, I say, “What can I do to help?”
    “ Your dad’s boss is having some fancy shindig that the wives are required to show up for. You need to help me get dressed and fix my hair.”
    I wonder if she’s suddenly speaking a foreign language, because her words make no sense to me. When I just stand there, she throws me a dirty look.
    “ Don’t just stand there like an imbecile. Get in here.”
    I step hesitantly into the forbidden realm, trying not to look around, though I can’t help it somewhat. Dirty laundry and paper clutter the room. Well, I think, if you don’t let Cinderella into the castle, she can’t clean it up for you.
    She puts on a button-up