Page 16

Dad surprises me by saying, “Good.”

He goes on: “Sorry, honey. The truth is often alarming. I’ve been fielding phone calls all day from parents, and I’ve been telling them the same thing. I understand you were one of the girls the officer pointed to when he mentioned rape statistics?”

“Yeah,” I say, the one word catching in my suddenly dry throat. “Me and Sara both. Were people pissed off about that?”

“Some,” Dad says. “Apparently Branley Jacobs’s mom called the school and gave the principal an earful over it.”

“I think Branley was kind of upset,” Sara says. “Somebody made a joke and . . .” She stirs her tea. “I don’t know if she was crying or anything like that, but she sure wasn’t laughing.”

“How did you feel about it, honey?” Mom asks me.

“I don’t know,” I tell her. “I wasn’t, like, pissed off or anything, but it was weird. I mean, we hear numbers like that shit—oops, sorry. We hear statistics like that all the time, but when he actually pointed at five of us . . .”

“It made it real,” my dad says, nodding.

“Yeah, like, really real.”

“That’s what your father said to the parents who have been calling,” Mom says. “If we have to hit you over the head with a sledgehammer to make you be careful, then I’ll be the first one in line at the hardware store.”

“I don’t want you to walk around scared,” Dad says, eyes sliding over to Sara. “Either of you. But things aren’t good around here. There’s never been a lot of money in this county, but times are tighter than ever and poverty breeds desperation. People look for escape in different ways: through drugs, through alcohol, and through sex.”

My hands leave my glass to cover my face.

“I’m sorry, honey, but it’s true,” Dad says.

“You were doing great until you said sex,” I tell him, my words muffled by my fingers. “Now I can’t look at you.”

“For the record, me neither” comes Sara’s similarly muted voice beside me.

“We’ll keep talking, but you don’t have to look at us, okay?” Dad says.

I nod, and I feel Sara doing the same thing beside me.

“I don’t know how much you know,” Dad says, giving me a little pause where I can feel free to volunteer all my sins if I feel so inclined.

I don’t.

“There’s been an influx of heroin in the county.”

“Bad heroin,” Mom clarifies, and I know Sara is trying just as hard as I am not to laugh at the idea that apparently she classifies some heroin as good.

“A handful of people overdosed last week,” Dad goes on. “It’s out there, along with meth—which in some ways is even more dangerous, because people are trying to make it themselves.”

“Cook it,” Mom corrects, and I have to wonder if they went to some kind of seminar or something where buzzwords were printed on PowerPoint slides in italics.

“We’re not stupid; we know you drink,” Mom says, and I am so damn grateful my head is already down. “We know what it’s like growing up here, honey; we did it too. But neither one of us was ever the preacher’s kid.”

“And I know that’s not easy for you,” Dad adds. “I want you to have a normal high school experience without that defining you. But you’re also my daughter, and I’m just a dad who wants his girl to be safe.”

“I am safe, Dad,” I say, and part of me wants to keep my face covered and part of me wants him to know that I didn’t start crying until this moment, and embarrassment has shit to do with it.

“Sara.” Dad clears his throat. “This applies to you too. Just because you’re not interested in boys doesn’t mean they’re not interested in you.”

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” Sara says into her hands.

“Girls,” Dad says. “If either one of you is ever in a situation you’re not entirely comfortable with—call me. I don’t care what time it is. I don’t care who is there or what is going on. You call me and I will come get you.”

I’m totally crying now, and I don’t even care. I look up at my dad and he’s crying too; my mom’s got her hand on his knee like she’s the only thing keeping him attached to the world.