Afterward Mom didn't love Daddy anymore, though he stayed by her side until she healed, begging forgiveness, promising to somehow make everything right.

In fact, since the accident, Mom doesn't love anyone.

She is marble. Beautiful.

Frigid. Easily stained by her family. What's left of us, anyway. We are corpses.

At first, we sought rebirth.

But resurrection devoid of her love has made us zombies.

We get up every morning, skip breakfast, hurry off to work or school. For in those other places, we are more at home.

And sometimes, we stagger beneath the weight of grief, the immensity of aloneness.

18.

No One Else Suspects Not our neighbors.

Not our friends.

Not even our relatives.

No one suspects Mom's real motive for running for Congress is to run away from us. No one suspects the depth of her rejection, or how drowning in it has affected my father a powerful district court judge, a man who puts bad guys away, slumped down on his knees, unable to breathe, unable to swim, unable to stop begging me to open my arms, let me stay, and please, please love him the way Mom used to.

19.

Raeanne Kaeleigh Closes Herself Off From Daddy. And I think she's completely insane.

I crave his affection.

No one, no one normal, that is, will understand. Yeah, yeah, I'm all fucked up. My mantra.

But if anyone actually suspects how fucked up I am, they've yet to let me know.

And, really, why would my father be so taken with her, but distance himself from me? We're identical. Except for the egg/ sperm thing. Would he fall on his knees in front of me, if I were more like Mom and less like him? Would he come, begging, to me, too, let me stay if he realized I want to love him the way Mom used to?

20.

But Obsessions Are Personal, I Guess Daddy's obsession with Kaeleigh strikes at the heart of me. But looking at it real objectively, I think I understand. She's soft. Pliable. Gullible. It's easy enough to believe his declaration that should someone root out his secrets, he'll swallow a bullet.

You know, he just might, though I see him as much more likely to pick up that gun and shoot Mom, especially if he's on a bender. More and more of those lately, both for him and for me. My own obsession.

Falling into a state of numb.

21.

Numb Sometimes that seems like a great place to be. Closed off from it all, in no need of love, no need of family.

To be honest, I've erected a huge, huge wall between myself and Mom, myself and Kaeleigh, who I avoid **

whenever I can. Can't stand that hurt, ever-present in her eyes. Eyes-- and hurt--that mirror my own.

Anyway, she makes me mad, mad that she hides in her own mind so well. Hides there from Daddy.

The only person I want to be close to is Daddy, and he doesn't even see me. It's like I'm not even here.

Most of the time I muddle through, pretending I don't need to be held, need to be touched, kissed.

But then need swells up, a thunderhead.

Storms down, sweeps over me like a summer flash flood of need.

22.

Numb Cannot Fight Such Need So I turn to Mick, valley hardass in more ways than one.

Mom says, That boy is trouble.

You steer clear, understand?

Like I give a rat's shiny pink butt about what Mom thinks.

Actually, I'm amazed she even noticed. Maybe she has spies who keep an eye on us when she can't be bothered. After all, it wouldn't do for a daughter of a United States congresswoman **

to get pregnant, now would it?

Oh, she would shit, if she had any real idea of the things I do with Mick. So if she has spies, they must be voyeurs. I know it's ridiculous, but I glance around.

Nope, no discernable spies. Good thing. Mick and I are taking off at lunch.

We probably won't eat much.

(No sandwiches, anyway.) So if I do head back to class afterward, it will be in an altered state.

23.

Self-medication firmly at the top of my agenda, I blow through Lawler's history quiz, put my pencil down, and sit staring out the window, waiting for the bell.

A black shape materializes in the sky, **

wings slowly through the mist. Buzzard?

No, as it nears, I see it's a condor.

Some kind of omen there. As I consider exactly what kind, someone taps my shoulder. I wheel around.

Finished?

asks Mr. Lawler.

I nod and hand him my paper, and when I look into his gold-flecked green eyes, I think for about the hundredth time what a fine guy he is. As if I had said it out loud, he smiles.

You may go, then.

I smile right back. "Thanks. See you tomorrow." I pick up my books, stand with deliberate grace, and as I walk toward the door I feel eyes on my back, know at least one pair belongs to him. Men are so easy.

24.

I Stop in the Girls' Room For a quick pee and to redo my makeup.

The bell finally rings. Within seconds, the lunch rush madhouse erupts.

Hurry up!--- What the fuck?

Hey, you, come here!

It's the same every day. Same voices.

Same laughter. Same lame people I've known most of my life.

Got a smoke?---Got a Tic Did you hear about...?