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were girls, back on Grandpa's ranch in Montana. She makes a big deal about all the times she saved Mom's butt when they were kids. "I spent so much time keeping June out of trouble, you'd have thought I was her mom instead of her little sister," she says.
    I've got half a mind to get up and leave, when all of a sudden she gets quiet. "Stevie," she says, "I owe you an apology for what I said back at the house. I never should have criticized your mom."
    I pick up one of the chopsticks and poke at the pool of sauce on my plate. I wonder what she's up to now.
    "We've always had different ideas about raising you. But you're not my daughter, so I had no right to say what I did."
    I use the chopstick to paint pictures: a heart, a bird, a tree.
    "Truth is, I love your mom. If I get mad at her sometimes, it's just because I worry about her. She never quite seems to get her life off the ground."
    I knew it. I knew she couldn't say something nice about Mom without twisting it around. I grip the chopstick so hard I'm surprised it doesn't break.
    The waitress brings the check and a couple of fortune cookies, but Aunt Mindy doesn't seem to notice. She locks her eyes on mine and says, "You need to get back to school, Stevie. If you screw up high school, you'll be crippled before you even start your life. I don't want to see you end up ... having regrets."
    I know exactly what she's thinking. She doesn't want me to end up like Mom.
    "I made an appointment for us to see your school counselor tomorrow. We'll talk to her together, okay?"
    I let the chopstick clatter onto the plate. "Forget it."
    "I'm afraid it's settled. Mrs. Watkins is concerned about your future, and so am I."
    "I'm not going to—"
    "Unless you want me to bring CPS into this."
    Sometimes I want to strangle her. "Fine. I'll talk to her."
    "Good." She smiles. She just loves getting her way.
    She picks up the check and starts rummaging in her purse. "There's something else I wanted to talk to you about. While you're staying with me, I expect you to pitch in around the house. This weekend we'll make a list of chores you can be responsible for."
    I'm used to doing housework. Mom's busy a lot, so I end up doing most of the cleaning. I don't really mind it, but I'm not about to tell Aunt Mindy that. "No way," I whine.
    "Yes, way. But the news isn't all bad. I'm also going to start giving you an allowance. How does twenty dollars a week sound?"
    It sounds like the most money anyone's handed me for doing pretty much nothing, but that's another thing Aunt Mindy doesn't need to know. "Sounds all right," I say with a shrug.
    "And I'm going to put you on my cell phone plan. With me working all the time, we'll need a way to stay in touch. Maybe we can pick out a phone for you this weekend."
    Me and Mom hate cell phones. Every time we see someone jabbering on one, we pinch our noses in the universal PU sign and bust out laughing. But if Aunt Mindy's dumb enough to buy me one, sure, I'll take it.
    "Now let's see what the future has in store for us." She sets her credit card on the little plastic tray and picks up a fortune cookie. "Me first." She cracks it open and reads: "You will soon have everything you dream of."
    She laughs and rolls her eyes, and for a second she looks exactly like Mom. "That'll be the day. Now your turn."
    The fortune cookie is light and fragile as a bird's egg. It cracks open easily. I read the fortune to myself:
The love you seek is right in front of you.
    Aunt Mindy leans forward. "What's it say?"
    I stuff the fortune in my pocket. "It says I'm going to win a million dollars."
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    I toss and turn all night thinking about the meeting with Mrs. Watkins. But when six-thirty the next morning rolls around and Aunt Mindy turns on the shower, I know there's no way out.
    "You didn't have to dress up just for me," she says as she grabs her car keys off the hook near the front door. She looks all sharp in jeans and a jacket and little gold hoop earrings. Her curls are