Free Pretty Amy by Lisa Burstein

Daniel and she was determined to prove that she really was trying. “I care about you, Amy,” she said in her practiced I am a good parent and I’m doing the best I can voice.
    I turned away from her, practically running for the refuge of my room, which that night felt like no refuge at all. As I walked up the blue-carpeted stairs I had walked on every day since I was five, I realized that my room was not mine. I hadn’t chosen to live in it, just like I hadn’t chosen to live in this house, or live on this street, or be born into this family.
    I hated my room and everything in it. I hated the pink carpet. I hated the sheets on my bed. I’d liked them when I received them for my thirteenth birthday, to replace my cartoon-character ones. But that night, I realized sheets were a pretty crappy birthday gift.
    I lit a cigarette and smoked out the window, but it felt like Joe’s house was staring at me. I stubbed it out and yanked down the shade. I even hated my view.
    I hadn’t gotten any of the things in this room because I’d really wanted them. I had gotten them because they were what my mother thought I was supposed to have. She had bought me all of these things because she was trying desperately to turn me into the daughter she wanted me to be.
    There was no chance of that anymore.
    I grabbed a sleeping bag from my closet, and AJ’s cage, and made my way back downstairs.
    My mother was still lying on the couch. “There’s dinner in the fridge,” she said.
    I ignored her and unlocked the basement door.
    “What are you doing?”
    “This is my new room.” I rolled the sleeping bag down the basement stairs and hugged AJ’s cage tightly.
    “You’ve got to be kidding.”
    I walked down the stairs before she could say anything else.
    She followed me, ducking her head so she didn’t hit the ceiling. “There’s no reason to get dramatic.”
    “I’m moving out. I can’t live here anymore.”
    “Living in the basement is not moving out.”
    “It’s as close to it as I can get.” I set my sleeping bag on the small green carpet and hung AJ’s cage from one of the rafters on the ceiling.
    “This is insane. Where’s your father?”
    I got into the sleeping bag and turned away from her, watching AJ’s cage swing back and forth, back and forth.
    “Amy, please, it’s disgusting down here,” she said.
    Usually the wavering in her voice would have been enough to make me turn and look at her, but everything was different now.
    “Fine,” she said, walking up the stairs, “do what you want. Live down here all alone; see if I care. I’m going to bed.” She slammed the door behind her.
    It was dirty; I had to give her that. It was also uncomfortable, and I hadn’t had enough arms to carry both AJ and a pillow, so my head lay right on that terrible green burlap carpet that looked like puked-up spinach. It was itchy and with my only other option being sleeping on concrete, I made a covert mission back up the stairs to get my mattress and pillow.
    While I was in my room gathering supplies, I called Lila’s cell. My mother hadn’t thought to take the cordless phone out of my room.
    Before the arrest, Lila, Cassie, and I were together all the time. It was hard to believe that it had been almost a week since I had spoken to either of them. It made my stomach feel like I was going down the first huge hill of a roller coaster when I thought about it.
    “Amy, oh my God, how are you?” Lila whispered as she picked up the phone.
    “Horrible,” I said. It felt so good not to lie. I was horrible. I was worse than horrible.
    “Aren’t you on twenty-four-hour watch or something?” Lila whispered.
    “You still have your phone?” I asked. It was a dumb question. I mean, I had called her, but I was surprised.
    “The police said I should keep it in case Brian tries to call me.”
    She was talking to the police. Why wasn’t I talking to the police?
    I could hear her climb out the window to her balcony and light a