1642734778_punk-57-pdf

An ache lodges in my throat, and I feel like I want to scream. Annie,
what were you thinking? But then I’m angry with myself, too. And my dad.
How did we not see it? Why didn’t we take care of her better?
I walk slowly over to her dresser and open drawers carefully and
quietly, as if she’ll come bursting in at any moment, scolding me for being
in her room. When I open the top drawer of her chest I see her scarves,
folded neatly and stacked in two piles. I smell her perfume, and my chest
shakes with a sob that I force back down as I sift through, finding one that
feels like Ryen’s. It’s not beige, but it’s cashmere. I feel a moment’s guilt,
but my sister would rather Ryen have it than let it sit in her empty room,
forgotten.
I pull out the light blue scarf and close the drawer, sticking it in my
duffel bag.
“Hello?” I hear a muffled call from the hallway.
I jerk my head toward the doorway, recognizing the voice.
My father. “Shit.”
I look around, knowing there’s no other way out of here. I slip behind
the privacy screen my sister put up as decoration by the wall and lock my
teeth together to calm my breathing.
I see a shadow block out the hallway light streaming through the
doorway and falling on the carpet.
“Misha?” my father asks hesitantly. “Are you here?”
He knows I’m here. He has to. I left Annie’s door open when I came in,
and it’s always closed.
But I don’t move. I can’t talk to him.
I peer through the holes in the screen, trying to see him, but I can’t. He’s
not in my eyesight.