Mia
I hate him. The feeling is a hot, hard knot in my stomach every single time I see Elton’s stupid, sympathetic smile. He’s my age, we go to the same stupid school, and now he’s in my house. He tries so hard. He holds doors, asks about my day, acts like the perfect son for my mom. It makes me sick. My dad’s been gone six months. Six. And she’s already married again, already moved this stranger and his too-nice son into our lives.
My new bedframe arrived today, a sleek platform thing that sits lower to the ground. I was shoving some old shoeboxes of junk underneath it, a pathetic attempt to reclaim some space in this room that no longer feels like mine. I wiggled under, pushing the last box into the far corner. When I tried to scoot back out, my shirt snagged on a rough bolt I hadn’t no
