My dad smells like sweat and grease. He's got a little dark smear above his brow where he must have touched his face with dirty hands. Despite his faults, my dad is a good man in many ways. A good-natured alcoholic, he goes to work every day and has always kept a roof over our head and food in our mouths.

When Dakon was born, he even let him and Crystal live here with us. Joey was in prison for the first four years. He spent six months living here with us before he went back. Lighting up a cigarette at the kitchen table, dad leans back, rocking the chair on two legs. "You excited to see your daddy?" he asks Dakon, who is shoveling mashed potatoes in his mouth.

"Yesss," he cheers, drawing out the word.

"Just two more weeks," Crystal says, rubbing her thighs. She doesn't eat with us. She never eats.

"Chicken's good baby girl," my dad says, complimenting my contribution to our meal. He stabs a piece and chews it. He's one of the few people I know who eats and smokes at the same time. The only time he doesn't have a cigarette tucked in his lip is when he's underneath a car or sleeping.

"Thanks daddy," I say, rinsing my plate off in the sink. "Hey, don't forget you've gotta help me fill out my financial aid."

He frowns and ashes. "They don't need me on that form," he says, annoyed.

I sigh. It's not a fucking form dad... it's online. We've been over this a thousand times. "Dad, I have to have a parent or guardian. Actually, nevermind. We'll talk about it later." It's not worth arguing about. I'll call the Financial Aid Office tomorrow and see if someone else can help me. It's the summer, and I don't know if college people work in the summer, but maybe someone will be there.

Joey's coming home in a week. Dakon turns eight in a month. In two months I'll be a college student. Then in four years I'll have my degree and my life can begin.