Dad’s voice bellows down. All the blood rushes to the top of my head and pounds there, trying to get out. I was in the middle of a dream, a Shauna dream, a good one. “Did you hear me? Get your ass up here!” 7:27 a.m. Shit. I’m gonna be late for work. I skip the shower in favor of breakfast. Takes all of ten minutes to brush my teeth, throw on some clothes, and be up in the kitchen wolfing down a bowl of cereal. Partway through the second bowl, I hear Dad’s feet on the stairs. Too late to get my boots on and slip out the side door, I finish my cereal. Dad looks over his shoulder at me on the way to the coffee. “Saw your girlfriend’s car last night. Didn’t hear her leave, though. What, you sneak her out after I went to bed, or was it this morning?” Dad’s leer broadcasts all the things he’s thinking: all of them disgusting. “Just be careful,” he says, his chest all puffed out, almost swaggering over to the table, tossing the newspaper open as he yanks out his chair.
