I woke up the next morning to find a group of tiny birds sitting on my stomach. I tried to sit up gently, but as soon as I moved, they all flew away. From the place of the sun in the sky, I gathered that it must have been sometime around ten in the morning. I never overslept anywhere else. Eight in the morning was the latest I was ever up, when I was home.
          I got my bearings and pulled myself to my feet. I looked back into the water and debated whether I should go home. It was early enough that it was possible everyone would still be
passed out, but late enough for at least one of them to have regained consciousness. I had no interest in a run-in with any of them, but there was nowhere else to go.
          I took one last look around and started my route back to the house. The sun was hiding behind gray clouds, giving the sky a tinted gray color that suggested rain was not far behind. It was a most fitting kind of weather for the lackluster day I knew was ahead of me. As I
maneuvered my way around sidewalk cracks, I wondered how long it would take Robin to show up this time. As much as he cared, he was unreliable, irresponsible, and not at all a man of his
word. Monsieur Hood, as he sometimes called himself, led a vagabond lifestyle that defied every possible social and safety construct he could manage to conflict with without actually dying.
          “Childhood trauma,” he would say, “does a real number on a man’s moral compass.”
          He never explained what that meant, and I stopped asking.
          I stopped at the front door and took a deep breath. I had never been here during this time of day, and I didn’t know what to expect. There were so many ways this could go, and none of the scenarios in my head were pleasant. I shook off the building anxiety and walked in. No one
ever locked this door. No one cared enough to make sure strangers stayed out. My mother could not care less who came inside.
          I shut the door behind me and surveyed the room. My mother was hanging off the edge of the small couch, and her unwelcome man friend was curled up in a ball by her feet. Both were
snoring loudly and didn’t stir in the slightest when I walked in. A blonde woman I had never seen before was sleeping on top of the wooden coffee table. She was so small in size that the
piece of furniture didn’t shake under her weight. There was no one else there.
          I relaxed and went up to my room. The damage from the night before was no worse than usual. The door had been blasted off its hinges and had landed on top of my bed. My desk lamp was broken, ceiling the fan was missing a blade, and my poor plush pillow was still in the mud
outside. I cleaned the broken glass off the desk and dumped it into the small trashcan by my bed, and then went down to the kitchen.
          I found it in the same disarray it was always in, but I didn’t make an effort to move anything. I just reached for an apple and poured myself a glass of water. I should have taken it up to my room and consumed it all there, but I didn’t. I leaned against the wall moodily, trying to
plan my day. I was so lost in thought that I didn’t notice anyone walk in behind me until my apple was snatched out of my hand. I turned and found that my mother’s male guest was standing right behind me, helping himself to my apple and smiling at me.
          “Where were you last night, Jean?” he asked.
          “It’s Jane.”
          He finished the apple and threw it at the trashcan. It hit the edge and fell to the floor, but he didn’t bother to try again. He took a few steps toward me, but I was frozen in place.
          “You missed curfew,” he said.
          “I don’t have a curfew.”
          “You should.”
          “That isn’t any of your business.”
          He took a few more steps forward, until he was towering over me with a half-smile playing on his lips. He lowered his face so that it was only a few inches from mine. I gritted my teeth and waited quietly. Every part of me was screaming at my legs to run, but I didn’t.
          He grabbed my arms and tried to pull me forward, but I pushed him off. He stumbled back, but instead of getting angry, he started laughing. The mirthless sound reverberated off the walls and filled the room. It was so loud and animal-like that it almost physically hurt me to hear. My flight instincts finally kicked in, and I tried to run out of the kitchen. I didn’t make it two steps before he regained his balance and grabbed me again.
          His grip was tighter this time, and I couldn’t shove him away. I collected all the saliva in my parched throat and spit in his eye. He cried out and stumbled back again, hitting his face against a broken picture frame on the wall. I slipped out of his grasp and dove toward the door,
but I still didn’t make it. He caught me by the waist and pulled me back so hard that I lost my balance and fell over. I got on my knees and tried to crawl away, but he grabbed my foot. I fell onto my stomach, and he pulled me up by my right arm until I was standing straight again.
When I saw his face again, the amusement had died. There was a piece of glass stuck in his right cheek, and he was bleeding. Before he could do anything, someone grabbed him and
pulled him off of me. I hit the floor and watched Uncle Robin punch him square in the nose. I heard a loud crack, and the man fell over. My uncle turned him onto his back, sat on top of him, and started punching him repeatedly in the face. Blood was gushing like a waterfall from his crooked nose. The man tried to fight back, but my uncle was too strong.
          Suddenly, my mother rushed into the kitchen. She screamed at my uncle to stop, but he refused. She tried to grab his arm to keep him from throwing another punch, but he was stronger than her. He shook her off and kept going, until finally the man lost consciousness. My uncle got
up and kicked him in the stomach, and then turned on my hysterical mother. She started crying and hitting her brother in the chest. He pulled her into a tight hug to stop her, and a few seconds later, she stopped trying to fight him. She just let her arms fall and kept sobbing uncontrollably.
He held her quietly and gently rubbed her back.
          When she finally calmed down, he kissed her head and let her go. They both looked at me, and then at the creature knocked out on the floor. Everyone was at a loss as to what to say. My uncle grabbed the man’s arm and threw him over his shoulder. We followed him to the front door, and he tossed him out. He slammed the door and locked it, and then motioned for me to go upstairs. He pulled my mother to a couch, and I went up to my room. I didn’t want to eavesdrop.
          I went to my bookshelf and hesitantly pulled out the one book I had always avoided. I didn’t know why I had it. I never opened it. I never wanted to. I had no intention of applying to college. I didn’t need it, but I liked having it there.
          I pulled it out of its place and sat at my desk. I flipped to the first page and started reading. It was nothing like any textbook we used in school. There was an entire chapter dedicated to ways to cope with anxiety over the exam. I thought it was ridiculous. Calculus didn’t have room for coping mechanisms. Either you could do it, or you couldn’t, and that was
all there was.
          “Knock, knock.”
          I looked up, and my uncle was standing in the doorway, smiling. I closed the book and turned to him, meeting his smile with my own, although mine was much less sincere. He moved the door and threw it onto the floor, and then sat on the edge of my bed. He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward.
          “I’m sorry,” we said at the same time.
          He laughed. “What could you possibly be sorry about?”
          “I could ask you the same question.”
          He stood up. “We’ll argue about who’s more at fault when we’re done.”
          “Done with what?”
          “We have a meeting with that obnoxious guidance counselor of yours at school, don’t we?”
          “She said Thursday.”
          “She doesn’t make the rules.”
          “She kind of does.”
          “Not for me.”
          I didn’t say anything or make a move to follow him. I was terrified of going to see her, for some reason.
          He took my hand. “Tell me, have you ever seen an elephant fly?”
          I laughed. “Well, yes. He flew just like an eagle.”
          “Consider me your magic feather, Dumbo.”
          He pulled me out of the chair, and I followed him out. We went down to the living room, where my mom was curled on a couch. She opened her eyes and looked at me. It was as if she was seeing me for the first time. She smiled so brightly that her entire face lit up, including her eyes. I was confused by this, but I didn’t comment. I just waved. She waved back, and then closed her eyes, again.
          My uncle and I left the house, and I found his old blue corvette sitting in the driveway. It was his most prized possession, and his one true love. He nicknamed her Corva, and spent more
time inside it than in actual buildings. It had comfortable white leather seats and a sound system that was both envied and hated by all. He had installed the entire interior himself. He was extraordinarily talented, but didn’t do anything with it and could never manage to get his life
together. Trouble followed him like a dark cloud, no matter where or how far he ran.
          We got into the vehicle, and he backed out of the driveway. He sped down the street, ignoring every speed limit sign he passed. He got us to the school in half the time it should have
taken. He parked in a spot reserved for teachers, and then got out of the car. He went around to my side and opened the door, but I didn’t move. I didn’t know what there was to be afraid of, but
I felt paralyzed.
          My uncle knelt next to me. “You are the bravest little girl I have ever known.”
I didn’t answer.
          He kissed my head. “Just remember, either you’ll sink or you’ll swim. You have a fifty percent chance, either way.”
          I laughed and rolled my eyes. He stood up and held his arm out. I hesitated, and then got out of the car and took it. He shut the door behind me, and we walked into the school. I led him
down the hall slowly, grateful that everyone was now in class. We stopped in front of Lynn’s door, and my uncle nudged me. I raised my hand and knocked one time.
          “Come in!” Lynn said from inside.
          My uncle opened the door, and we walked in. Lynn was sitting behind her mahogany desk, examining a small note card. Her hair was messy today, like she had made no effort to make herself presentable that morning. I noticed that there were bags under her eyes, and her
face was paler than usual. Her hands were shaking slightly, and she was gripping the note card harder than necessary.
          We sat down, and she looked up. Her face bore no smiles, but her tone was polite when she said, “You were to be out until Thursday, Jane.”
          “I’m so—”
          My uncle cut me off. “I’m not comfortable with her missing any more classes.”
          “And who are you?”
          “I am her uncle, Robin Diggs. Her mother is my sister, but I am her legal guardian.”
          “Her mother is your sister, but you have the same last name.”
          “She was given her mother’s maiden name, and that is absolutely none of your business. Do not stick your nose where it does not belong.”
          She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Did she tell you why I suspended her?”
          “She told me she didn’t understand. I have never known Jane to get in trouble. It is absurd that her punishment for a first offense is suspension.”
          “I needed to see a parent.”
          “Putting a suspension on her record could hurt her future.”
          “Well, she says she doesn’t want to go to college, so I don’t suppose that really matters. If she’s going to be a waitress for the rest of her life, I doubt that a diner will care about a
minuscule suspension.”
          “Don’t be condescending. There is nothing wrong with the working class.”
          “When a child is brighter than any student I have ever had in this office, I have to disagree. There are many things wrong with giving up and becoming part of the working class. She should go to college and have more opportunities, which she is refusing to even apply for.
Has she told you that?”
          My uncle looked at me, and I looked away. There was a heavy silence in the room. Lynn was obviously feeling victorious. She had successfully shut us up and gotten him on her side. He
didn’t want to admit it to avoid embarrassing me in front of her, but he was disappointed. He often told me that I was his family’s only hope. Now, I had torn that hope to pieces. He cleared
his throat and looked back at her.
          “Doesn’t matter. You cannot suspend a student for refusing to go to college,” my uncle said.
          “I want her to try so that she has the option to go if she changes her mind.”
          “I won’t change my mind,” I said.
          “You are young, and young people change their minds many times before they settle on a future. That is nature’s course. You are only seventeen.”
          “What does she need to do to get back into school?” my uncle asked.
          “She needs to register and take the SAT, and she needs to go on the college tour I’ve arranged for all juniors. We will be visiting Hans-Lorna University on Saturday. I would like her to join us.”
          “That’s an Ivy League university,” I said. “Most of us have no shot of getting in, so what’s the purpose of going?”
          “You have a shot, Jane.”
          “Fine,” he said. “Anything else?”
          “That is all.”
          “What about my suspension?” I asked.
          “I didn’t put it on your record. We will leave for University City at ten in the morning. You may go.”
          My uncle and I got up and left. He shut the door behind us, and we stood in the middle of the hallway quietly. All of the students had been let out, and they wove around each other and knocked into us on their way to their next class. We just watched them. They were like anxious, stressed out worker bees on a deadline. Each of them was overwhelmed by their fear of where they might end up if they lost a single assignment, failed a single test, missed a single class. Even
watching them was stressful.
          “So, we done?” my uncle asked.
          “Vanguard took my phone.”
          “Lead the way.”
          I turned left and went to the stairs. I took him up to the second floor, almost tripping over my own feet. We walked down the hall and stopped at the first door on our right. I was about to
knock, but my uncle barged right in.
          We found Vanguard standing at the front of his classroom, holding a book and writing on the board. He was taken aback by the intrusion, and before he could recover, my uncle pulled
open his desk drawer. The teacher attempted to get in his way, but Robin shook him off and ignored him. He kept rummaging through the desk until he found my phone. He handed to me,
and we left the room. Vanguard was yelling out behind us, but my uncle couldn’t have cared less. He slammed the classroom door right in the man’s face and kept walking. I followed him down the stairs and through the school’s empty halls. The bell had rung, and kids had gotten to their classes. He burst through the front doors, but he stopped there. He
looked out onto the parking lot, where students with much nicer vehicles than his were parked haphazardly. We watched someone in a reflecting yellow vest walk over to his car and pull out a small notepad. I expected my uncle to run over and intervene, but he didn’t. He just sat down on the stairs and let the man give him a violation. He didn’t care.
          I sat next to him, but neither of us spoke for a long time. He was too preoccupied with his own thoughts, and I was too anxious about what he had to say. I had my hands folded in my lap
and my eyes closed, wishing I could go anywhere else and take a long nap.
          “I’m proud of you,” he said.
          My head snapped up. “What?”
          He looked down at me. “I can’t be upset with you for picking your own way, even if it isn’t the one I wanted for you.”
          “Do you regret not going to college?”
          “No, but that doesn’t mean you won’t.”
          “Okay.”
          “Just sit the exam.”
          “Fine.”
          We lapsed into silence, again. He put his arm around me, and we watched as the traffic officer moved on to a few other cars. The man was unforgiving. He had written at least five violations within ten minutes. He was taking his job far too seriously.
          When he had almost reached the sixth victim of his pen, he tripped over a yellow parking block. He fell onto the hood of a car, and the book slipped out of his hand. He tried to catch it, but it flew right through a sewer gate in the sidewalk. He dropped to his knees and looked inside, almost sticking his entire head in. I imagined a clown with a red balloon appearing and offering
him the notebook. He probably would have taken it without hesitation.
          The officer gave up and threw the pen after the notebook angrily. He dusted himself off and looked around, but he didn’t notice us watching him. He grabbed each of the violations and
tore them up, and then threw them into the sewer as well. He wiped his hands on his black pants, and then hopped on his bike and rode away.
          “Do you think I’m crazy, Uncle Robin?”
          He raised his eyebrows, tilted his head to the side, and nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid so. You’re entirely bonkers, but I’ll tell you a secret.”
          I laughed and leaned my head on his shoulder. “All of the best people are.”
          He put his arm around me. “We are all as mad as hatters in our own ways, Jane Diggs.”