Hours

18- Wednesday, May 16th

6:48 PM

"So, how was school?"

My dad's a good guy. He's a simple man who just wants a simple life and a simple family. The problem, of course, is that both he and Mom are hardly home, leaving their relationship with me... shaky, at best. So that's why on nights like tonight when we're eating Swiss Chalet at the dining room table because the kitchen table is covered in his work supplies, and he's asking the same question that he's asked me every day since grade 3, I respond the same way I have since grade 3.

"Good." I push my chicken around on my plate, not hungry and not in the mood for this conversation.

"How's English?" He asks, and I suppress the urge to sigh.

"English was last semester, Dad." He's trying, he really is. The thing is that he's taken on more and more shifts since I started high school, figuring I was old enough to stay by myself and make my own dinner and, well, I wouldn't say that I was. But it's not his fault. I may not try very hard to rebuild that connection that was damaged between us, but it's not even my fault either. And sure, call me immature for pushing my problems onto Mom and claiming that they're her fault, but this broken connection- these awkward last-minute meals in the too-fancy dining room- that's solely on her shoulders. It's because of what she did to him, to us.

What she still does, even now, even on her 'New York' business trip.

"Oh, right. How about..." Dad stalls, trying to make this conversation less awkward.

Which I know is impossible.

"Hey, sorry, Dad. I have a lot of homework to do tonight. Do you mind if I...?" I gesture to my half-eaten chicken, fries, and dinner roll.

"No problem, honey." Dad jumps at the offer a little too quickly, but I can hardly blame him. I'm the one fishing for an excuse to get out of this situation.

"Thanks, Dad," I say as I get up, grabbing my plate as I do. I hesitate on my way out of the dining room, then turn back and plant a quick kiss on the top of his head.

I bring my plate into the kitchen. I stare at the leftovers for a moment, wondering if they're worth saving. In the end, I save the chicken but dump the rest in the garbage, putting the plate and cutlery into the dishwasher. I put the chicken in a container and leave a note on top, Thanks, Dad. Take this for lunch tomorrow. <3. I then put the container in the fridge and head up the stairs to my bedroom.

In truth, I don't plan on doing any homework. Instead, I throw my backpack on my chair and flop back onto my bed, my head spinning with thoughts, questions, and...

Micheal.

How can he consume my thoughts so much? How can this boy, one I didn't know until two days ago, prevent me from having a single quiet moment in my mind?

I think back to our argument on the way down the hill, to the money he owes Andy and Alisa, to his denying my help.

I get up quickly, my mind racing back to the cheques I cashed in two months ago, how I took it all out in cash (for some reason) and the now abundant stash of bills I hid... somewhere.

I check the cupboard in my bedside table, as well as the drawer and the small box I have on top. Not there. Clearly, I would've hidden it somewhere much more... private. I open the door to my closet, looking at the small boxes I have tucked beneath all of my clothes. I push the ones at the front to the side, looking for a small green one at the back.

Bingo.

Pulling open the lid, I see a small stack of colourful papers. I pull them out delicately, counting as I go.

I lean back on my heels, nearly $550 staring back at me from the floor of my carpet. I smile slightly to myself, knowing I have enough to help Micheal pay Andy and Alisa off but also remembering how adamantly he denied my help.

I pick up the stack of bills, pushing the little green box back into the back of my closet and closing the door. I put the money on my bed, heading towards my door, but stop, turning back to my bed. Leaving all that money just lying around seems like a bad idea, no matter how much I trust my family. I cover the bills with my bedsheet, then head downstairs.

As I head down the stairs, I hear Dad on the phone with someone. I slow, not wanting to interrupt him, but then I hear Moms voice on the other side of the line. Neither of them are bothering to talk quietly, though they're not making anything more than small-talk. For some reason, that hurts me more than any argument they could have, any screaming they could do, any fight they could get into. The fact that they're making small talk implies they have nothing else to talk about.

Nothing.

I rush quickly into the office, looking in the cupboard that I'm sure had envelopes. I pull out a standard envelope and rush back upstairs, ignoring Mom and Dads conversation.

Back in my room, I put the money into the envelope, then go to my desk, grabbing a pen and a scrap piece of paper. I know you don't want my help, but I'm not going to let them continue to do this to you. I scribble quickly, signing my name at the bottom. I think about adding more, but I have no clue what to say. I tuck the paper into the envelope, sealing it.

I'm worried about carrying around all this money at school, especially with Andy and Alisa hunting for it, so instead of putting it in my backpack, I tuck it into my drawer. It still doesn't seem safe, but I can't think of anywhere else to put it where I would have quick access.

I sigh as I lean back in my chair, glancing at the time. It's only 9:00, but I'm so tired that I feel like I could fall asleep any second. I change into my Dad's old Queen shirt and the tattered shorts I sleep in, brush my hair and braid it, then go into the bathroom and brush my teeth. I took off my makeup after I came home from the hike, and now I look at myself in the mirror make-up free.

My eyes look too-big and my face looks pale and greasy. Blackheads mix with the freckles covering my face and my lips look small and dry. I look away as I apply some lip balm and leave the bathroom quickly.

I crawl into bed quietly, not bothering to say good-night to my Dad downstairs.