My father opened the door, his way of rushing into an apology. The door stuck in the frame, the result of years of expansion during the seasons. “I…I need you to forgive me.” He was never good at the whole asking thing. “I was just so worried. You’re not doing well and you’ve always done well. I don’t know how to help you.”

I nodded, frozen in place. I was used to the up and down of his moods. I always had to swallow my pride here, because fighting or pushing a point just ended in more anger. The peace would be good for my brother, Sammy, and my mother. I knew it was hard for them when I came home. I had the most trouble with my father.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Do you have anything to apologize for?” he said.

I pulled at my eyebrow to keep my control. He wanted me to apologize because he had apologized. I had always wondered if that canceled them out.

“I’m sorry for not doing as well as I should be in school.”

“And for joining that dumb medical group,” he prompted.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Come. I had your mother make those cookies you like. Butter pecan.”

Those were his favorite cookies. I was more of an almond or chocolate type of girl.

When I was released from the prison of my room, I started doing household chores to keep my parents from having as much ammunition against me and so I could be the one to check the mail every day. Every morning, before anyone was awake, I would go out and check the mailbox, sifting through it before I arrived in the door to check for a letter from the university. If I could keep them from finding out until I was at least back for next semester, everything would be okay. I was safer at college than I was if they found out here.

My brother and I started taking walks around our neighborhood and down little side streets nearby. He told me about his hockey team’s latest win, how he wasn’t sure who he was going to ask to the dance and about his favorite new rapper. I listened, rapt in our conversation, in the only environment when I felt like I could relax. And this was supposed to be a break, after all. Being out of the house felt like a weight off of both of our shoulders. We could share things that we couldn’t in our house. The walls had ears, mouths and megaphones. And who couldn’t hear a megaphone.

The day my brother ran out of the house and into the snow screaming “you’re it” was the day it happened. We had both woken up early to get out of the house before our parents woke up. Break was almost over and I had assumed, or hoped, that the letter wouldn’t come while I was here. I ran right past the mailbox after my brother, thinking or not thinking, I’m still not sure. We played tag zigzagging through neighbors’ yards and hiding behind well-manicured bushes. When we arrived home, I checked the mailbox. It was empty. My chest constricted, making it difficult to breathe and easy to panic. I started running for the house. My brother thought it was another game and yelled “race you there!”

And there it had been. At my seat, the letter from my university, containing all of my grades and my letter of probation, opened with a clean slit from the letter opener, the coldest way of unlocking an envelope.

“You won,” my brother said, bent over, pretending that he was out of breath. His cheeks were pink from the wind rash he had received. He looked up when I didn’t respond. “What is it?”

“I have to go,” I said.

“Where? Why?” my brother said.

I tried not to answer and turned to go. I ran straight into my dad as he appeared around the corner.

“When were you going to tell us?” he said, taking a step forward.

“Tell you what?” My eyes betrayed me and I glanced at the letter in my hand.

“You think I haven’t noticed you waking up four hours earlier than you used to. Always wanting to go get the mail. We have done nothing but support you and try to foster your potential and all you did is spit in our faces.” He took another step forward.

I stumbled back, tripping over the carpet.

“That letter says that if you don’t get your grades up, they’re kicking you out.”

“They ask you to take a year off,” I blurted, regretting it the second it left my mouth.

His eyes turned to molten lava and his voice got quiet. I always hated that. It was better when he yelled. “I’m tired of supporting someone so ungrateful.” He turned away

I reached out, sorry that I had kept it from him, sorry I had failed. “I tried. I promise. I really did. I can explain what happened.”

He whirled around, and grabbed my wrist, twisting it in an unnatural direction. White spots flashed before my eyes.

“I don’t want your excuses. This is not how we raised you.” He pulled my wrist. “We will not tolerate this.”

He pulled on my wrist. I tried to slip out of his grip, but he was done. He threw my hand towards me. I took a step away and ended with the wall at my back. He pivoted on his heel and stormed away, probably to yell at my mother for raising such a failure. I turned to look for my brother. He was crouched on the floor in the next room, holding his legs to his chest. I sat beside him and put my arm around his shoulder. His hair had gotten longer, his shoulders broader. He was changing too. But I had changed for the worse and he hadn’t picked a path yet.

“You’re it,” I whispered to him. I placed a kiss on his forehead and I went upstairs to pack.

I wrote a note before I left, telling them that I was going back to school early. I told them there were special classes for people who stayed for the break and that I wanted to get settled in for the new semester. I told them not to worry about me, although I could have saved my ink, written something clever instead of writing something untrue. I pulled my Clif bars from their nooks and crannies, knowing I had to find each one or my father would. He would tear my room apart searching for me, seeing if I had found a way to make myself smaller than he made me feel. I gathered everything I could into a suitcase and took it down the stairs, holding it away from anything that it could hit like my life depended on it. I couldn’t wake them up, not now, not ever.

I stopped at the foot of the steps and gazed up at the angel topping the Christmas tree. She was surrounded by garlands and garlands of illuminated bulbs. She was supposed to be there to protect. But to protect who? The person who put her there? And how could she see to protect through all the lights?