Have you ever had the feeling that something bad was coming? When things were okay, that probably meant something annoying was going to jump out at me. And I wasn’t just talking about Allison. I had been feeling this way for a while now. It made me restless.

I came home from playing basketball one night to find my parents and Jay eating in the kitchen. Crap. I have two options for weeknights—either get home before they do or late enough that they’ve already split into separate directions. I was headed for the snack cabinet, but I wondered if they would just let me back away. No such luck. They turned and stared.

“You’re home early…” I said.

“And you’re late. Have a seat.” My dad gestured to the chair across from him.

Oh no. We were really going to do this awkward family meal thing? It’s not even a Sunday or a Monday. I wasn’t prepared. I dropped my backpack on the ground and sat. I kept my eyes on the spaghetti in front of me, but Jay chatted through the meal. When he excused himself, I stood to follow.

My dad raised his hand. “Hold on, Danielle. We’d like to talk with you for a few minutes.”

“Um. Right now? ‘Cause I have homework and—” A raise of my mom’s eyebrow shut me up. I waited, but didn’t sit back down.

“How was your day?” My dad asked.

“Fine.” Were we going to pretend this wasn’t the beginning of a lecture?

“What were you doing?”

“Just hanging out with classmates. Why?”

“Because I want to know. That’s why.”

I guess that’s all that matters, but it doesn’t help me understand the point of this.

“Why are you always home so late?” Mom cut in. “Your brother has to be alone for hours.”

I snorted. “You’re concerned about Jay being left alone? I’m surprised you noticed, since you’re never home yourself.”

“Watch your tone when you speak to your mother. This is because of those ‘friends’ you’re with, isn’t it?” From the moment Dad raised his voice, I knew this was going to end badly. It violated our “You don’t bother me; I don’t bother you” contract. In these moments, I would take my cue and bow out of confrontation, but the restless energy in me was stoking a certain tension.

“Yes, because it could never be your fault, could it? It must be something else. You don’t even know the kind of people I hang out with.” In my mind, I knew this wasn’t helping. But another part wanted this, wanted something. If we didn’t speak like this, we never would. I was bored of the mediocrity.

I had been almost the same height as my father since I turned fourteen, but nothing made me feel quite as small as when he slammed his palms down on the table and stood. I hated myself for flinching. “Now listen, we work hard so you can have what you want. We’ve given you everything.”

“Are you sure it’s not so you can ignore us? Did you even know that Jay is working on a play at school, or that he is so good at gymnastics that his teacher asked if he wanted to join the team, but didn’t because he thought you would say no?”

My mom gasped at my outburst, but didn’t deny the accusation. “You only think about yourselves. So ungrateful,” she muttered.

I grabbed my backpack and bolted. I have a vague memory of one of them calling my name, but I didn’t stop to think until I was out the door, on my bike, and down the street. When I did start letting thoughts through, I felt childish for causing drama. I almost turned around, but I needed to cool down more. Where would I go? I asked myself that, but I already knew where I was heading.

When I walked into Emelia’s living room, I didn’t see her around. I hoped she wasn’t already asleep. The feeling of being ridiculous was renewed in me, but it subsided when she appeared from around the corner.

“Hey.” She sounded startled and took a halted step forward. “Is everything okay?”

—And then the feeling promptly returned. I took my shoes off near the couch. “Hey. Yeah. Um…” I ran my hands through my hair while I tried to find the right words. Then, because Emelia started to look more concerned, wondering what it could be, I decided just to get it out. “Do you… Would you mind if I stayed here for the night? I mean, I promise to stay out of your way. I could just sleep on this couch if you want—or on the floor? That’s good too.”

She was caught off-guard by my question, but seemed more confused than opposed. “I guess… I guess that would be okay. You do not have to sleep on the couch, though. That is too short for you. You can sleep in my room. I can sleep in my mother’s.”

She started back toward the hall, but then hesitated and turned. “Did—did something happen?”

I guess she had a right to ask since I would be crashing here. I shrugged and stared at my shoes as I toed them off by the door. “It’s just, you know, parents.”

“Ah…” Her face was blank, no understanding showing on it.

“We got into an argument, I guess. They just like disapproving of me and blaming everyone but themselves.”

“Well… Disapproving means they care, right?’

“Yeah, sure. They only care when I do something they don’t like. Otherwise, they wish they could forget I exist.”

“Maybe you are misunderstanding each other. Maybe you could sort it out if—”

I dropped a heavy hand over my face and sighed. “Look, maybe we don’t all have perfect parents who spend time with us or we can be proud we inherited everything from.”

Emelia’s demeanor changed. She didn’t raise her voice, but it was the closest to anger I had seen her. So she does have a breaking point. “They’re still alive, aren’t they? As long as they’re here, you don’t know what could happen. But what about when it’s too late? When you wake up one day and they’re just—just not there?”

—Wait, was she talking about me or something else? Is she waiting here because she feels guilty about something? Did she do something to make her mom leave? But knowing her, she would take responsibility for something she didn’t do.

I stayed quiet. She looked apologetic, but continued in a quieter voice. “You know, a lot of people say ‘If only we were more alike, we wouldn’t fight’ or ‘If they weren’t jerks.’ But people aren’t perfect. Misunderstandings and arguments always happen. What we need is the strength to apologize and forgive. Then we learn to be better.” Another quote directly from her mother, no doubt.

“It’s not that simple.”

“Maybe not. Some problems are bigger, but I think it would solve a lot of things.”

I had been angry and my parents responded to my anger, like Emelia had just now. My overreaction made it a big deal. I had just been so preoccupied with thinking something bad was coming that I was on edge and lost my cool. Self-defeated, I ran to the optimist.

So, what, I was supposed to be the perfect daughter, never do anything they wouldn’t like, suffocate for their approval? Or was I supposed to believe that once we had a heart-to-heart, they would change too?

My anger from the day had long ebbed away into mild irritation. All I wanted was sleep. Emelia must have understood because she smiled, crooked and awkward. “But that’s just what the middle pages of a self-help book I found in the trash said. I’ll show you my room.”

She led me to the first room in the hall. She scurried inside, grabbed a blanket off the floor, and threw it on the bed. Then she picked up a couple bowls on a nightstand with a mumbled apology.

I dropped my backpack on the floor and sat on the bed. A dresser and desk were squeezed together on the opposite side. This room had to be smaller than the office, where she painted. Some papers and textbooks were spilling off the desk. Above it, a poster of a racing game from a decade ago was curling around the edges.

“You play video games?” I asked.

Maybe I should have sounded less shocked. She placed a hand on her neck and looked to the side. “Mostly as a kid, when my cousins visited.”

“I’ll bring some over next time.”

She looked up with raised eyebrows. It’s embarrassing talking to someone who doesn’t fear such obvious displays of emotion!

I continued, “If you’re going to try to make me think about shit, the least I can do is try to block intellectual thought.”

She laughed. “You can try, but my mom still has a whole shelf of self-help books I haven’t gotten to yet.”

Was that… A witty comeback? Maybe Allison was right. Emelia just needed to feel us out.

She cleared her throat and reverted to nervous fidgeting when I didn’t respond. “Do you need anything else?”

A toothbrush? A shower? Loud music to stop the thoughts you gave me?

I said no and she left. I let my back hit the mattress. Why did I come here? I wanted her to be on my side but she wanted to lecture me, too. If it were any of my classmates, they would have joined in on the parental bashing. Heck, it would have turned into a game of “Who has it worse.”

I was so willing to toss aside what she wanted back.

With a deep breath, I turned on my side, hoping the new position would help me sleep. That just made me face my backpack, hiding homework barely touched. That was tomorrow’s problem. Tonight’s problem was trying to forget all of it.