That honesty surprised me.
“I have class,” I said, gathering my books.
“Wait. Are you okay?”
It was the first time in years I remembered Amber asking and meaning it.
“I’m getting there,” I said.
I left before the conversation could become anything else.
Outside, my phone began vibrating.
Missed calls from Mom. A text from Amber: Please answer them. Another from Mom: Maya, call us. Then one from Dad: Call me.
For years, silence had belonged to them.
That night, silence belonged to me.
I turned my phone over and studied until midnight.
Dad called the next morning as I crossed the courtyard.
I answered because I was not afraid anymore.
“Maya?”
“Hi, Dad.”
“Your sister says you’re at Briarwood.”
“Yes.”
“You transferred without telling us.”
“That’s correct.”
“Why wouldn’t you tell us?”
“I didn’t think you’d care.”
Silence.
“Of course I care,” he said. “You’re my daughter.”
