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Here's an excerpt:
That’s my father’s favorite word. I’m pretty sure that’s why he left my mother and me: we never listened. What does he expect? My mother hides behind a computer sixty hours a week, and I’m only fifteen. It’s not in our nature to listen. Case in point: I think my mother just asked a question I didn’t catch—which is bad—because she hates repeating herself almost as much as I do. My best defense is to keep staring out the car window, pretending I didn’t hear.
“Well?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said, “I get it. You hate me.”
“Kaylee, I don’t hate you. And we both know you brought this on yourself.”
“Me? How is this my fault? I haven’t done anything—”
“Exactly. It’s been three weeks since we moved here, and in that time you’ve made zero effort to make friends or leave the apartment. If it wasn’t for Anna, you wouldn’t do anything but come home from school and sulk in your room.”
I slunk down further in the passenger seat. “Yeah, and if it wasn’t for Anna I wouldn’t even be here right now.”
“Well, I think it was very generous of these girls to invite you over tonight, so at least try and make an effort. It’s only for a few hours.”
I scowled out my window, knowing it was pointless to argue. Once my mother made up her mind it took an act of God, or an argument with my father, to change it.
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