Sammy Keyes and the Showdown in Sin City by Wendelin Van Draanen

I’m done just taking this.”
    “Her getting—”
    “I didn’t want
you
to worry about where I was, but since you’ve known about this all along, I don’t know why I even cared!”
    “Samantha—”
    “Maybe if
you’d
stood up to her sooner, I wouldn’t have to sneak into cars and hop onto planes and weasel my way into other people’s hotel rooms!”
    “Samantha, please—”
    “
No!
I’m done!” I shout. “I can’t believe you kept thisfrom me!” Then I slam down the phone and burst into tears.
    “Wow,” Marissa says, putting an arm around me. “Are you okay?”
    “No!” I shout at her. “I’m not okay! Grams knew! She
knew
.”
    Marissa looks over her shoulder at her mother’s bedroom door and tells me, “Shhh!”
    “Sorry,” I mumble, but I just feel so … betrayed.
    “What in the
world
is going on?” Mrs. McKenze cries, flinging her door open.
    “I’m sorry,” I whimper. “I’m really, really sorry.”
    And I’m not thinking about anything but being betrayed, but apparently Marissa is. “Would it be okay if Sammy slept on the couch tonight?”
    “Slept on the …” Mrs. McKenze moves in closer. “What happened?”
    Marissa heaves a sigh. “Her mother.” Then she shakes her head a little, like, Don’t even ask.
    So Mrs. McKenze takes a deep breath and says, “It’s fine. And, Marissa, sweetheart, I’ve got to fill out forms online for your father—getting him out is not going to be as easy as I’d hoped.”
    “Why?”
    “Because we have to post bail, and I don’t know if I do that at the justice court or the district court—I don’t even know the difference! And I can’t talk to your father, because inmates are not allowed to receive calls.” She holds her head like it might explode. “Inmates! Your father isan inmate!” She lets go and says, “And we can’t visit him without filling out forms … but first I have to register, and I’m not sure how or where to do that.” She shakes her head and whimpers, “I feel like Sammy—I just want to cry. And I have
such
a headache.” She gives Marissa a pleading look. “Could you two go down to that little store by the water fountain and get me some aspirin and maybe get us all some sandwiches? We completely missed dinner.”
    As upset as I was about Grams, I knew I was also just
hungry
. And I guess Marissa was, too, because she grabs me by the arm and yanks me off the couch and says, “Sure.”
    “Promise me you’ll stick together, okay?” She hands Marissa some cash. “And please come right back.”
    So off we go, down the corridor to the elevators, down the elevators to the water fountain, and past the water fountain to the convenience store. And since Marissa is either blocking it out or in denial about her dad being in jail, she keeps asking me what I’m going to do instead of talking about what she’s going through.
    And the truth is, I’m kind of glad, because it feels good to just walk and talk with Marissa and plan out how I’m going to confront my mother. Marissa even makes me laugh a couple of times, which helps a lot. And we do exactly what Mrs. McKenze asked us to—we buy the aspirin and sandwiches and head straight back.
    Which, if you ask anybody, qualifies as a minor miracle.
    On our way back up we’re the first people on the elevator, which I discover is actually worse than being the last. People keep cramming on and we keep squooshing back. And just as we’re sure the elevator can’t fit any morepeople, we hear a voice cry, “Hold the door,” and someone actually does.
    And then in squeezes a woman with a huge red suitcase.
    Marissa grabs onto me and gasps, and like a ton of turds it hits me.
    My luck had been just a mirage.

EIGHT
    I turn away from the elevator door and duck while people squoosh in tighter. Marissa stoops, too, and we look at each other all bug-eyed as we hear, “Excuse me … excuse me … oh, thank you … I’m sorry … we’re getting off at