The Cost of Staying

My mother called at eight, and I heard the salon underneath her voice like a crack spreading through a wall. Three weeks behind on rent. Two stylists gone. The building owner tightening his grip. She did not ask me for money; that was the worst part. She made me understand that I would offer it, and I hate being predictable to her.

I paid it. I did that without making a speech, because I wanted the problem to become smaller before she could say she was sorry. I also wanted to punish myself a little. A part of me resented being the daughter who can solve the rent problem but cannot solve the reason my mother sounds afraid. I can handle a boy bullying a seventh grader and I cannot keep my mother's world from shrinking. ~~That should bother me less.~~

I liked Kayla when she said, “Why not?” Too much, maybe. I wanted the school to crush the bullying, but I needed to remember that protecting one child must not become permission to hurt another. I hate clean answers. People bring me their ugliest choices and ask me to sort them as if there is always a drawer marked “right.”

At the diner, I kept insisting that Destiny’s statement come without pressure. I wanted to protect her from the adults who turn a frightened child into evidence. More privately, I wanted to protect myself from another case where doing exactly what was right still left someone damaged.