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our car breaking down in the middle of nowhere on one of our stupid family outings, it is entirely my fault. My father will always give me these icy looks, as though he wants to kill me, and sometimes I think he really does. Even those times when I try to talk to him about where I'd like to go to college, all he'll do is grunt and mutter "Whatever," and make an excuse to leave the room. Most of the time, he treats me as though I had the plague, probably always suspecting I am going to bring something up that will somehow cost him money. On the other hand, he can be quite warm and pleasant to Mike. Sure, why not? Mike is destined to forgo college for a career stacking shelves at Walmart or slinging hash at some greasy-spoon diner. Wherever Mike ends up, my father can rest assured it won't cost him a dime. Sometimes it's impossible for me to believe that my father is a high-school guidance counselor. Really, I wonder how many young minds he messes up each year, or does he save that treatment only for his own daughter?

The day is growing old now. Through the window I can see that it is dark. The dim streetlights have flickered on, and I can hear the loud grinding gears of the first semi pulling into The Truck Stop for the night. I think I'll turn in early. Maybe Mike has the right idea; maybe sleeping all the time helps you to forget that you have a truly lousy life.

XOXOXO

Darlene.

June 27

Winny girl,

Miracles of miracles, the parts for our car came in early. I have been told we might be able to flee this town the day after tomorrow.

In celebration, dad took us to The Cafe for dinner. Although the food didn't turn out as bad as I'd imagined, the company was most definitely lacking. Sitting next to me, Mike shoveled his food in his mouth. He makes slurpy sounds even when he isn't eating anything wet. He doesn't even hold his fork like somebody civilized, but grabs it with his fist, the way you'd imagine an ape or an orangutan would if it sat down at a table to eat.

It didn't take long for my parents to start arguing. They pretended it wasn't really arguing, but instead a playful exchange, which didn't sound the least bit playful to me.

"Well," dad said, and you could hear his exasperation, "you could at least consider going back to work."

"You know I have to take care of the children," she said.

"The children! They're sixteen and seventeen- what's to take care of anymore?"

Then they went back and forth, with Mike and I the topic of conversation, even though they

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