Stronger than You Know Read Online Free Page B

funny. I home-schooled myself. I talked to Aunt Nicole when I was about eight and had never gone to school. Aunt Nicole said school was a big deal and that I should talk to my mom about it.
    Mom was dating a decent guy at the time. One who left me alone. He took Mom to the school district to sign me up for home school. Once I was signed up for one year, registering for the next year was a lot easier. I filled out the forms every fall and kept myself in school. Without the movie Matilda , I wonder if I would have ever attempted to learn or study anything. The number of times I tried to make things happen using my mind so I could be more like her …
    Sadness sweeps over me. It never worked—moving things with my mind. No matter how hard I concentrated. I was never able to keep Mom from drinking. I wasn’t able to keep the people out of our house that she’d invite over. I wasn’t able to keep myself from getting hurt. Over and over.
    I lay my head back against the headrest and I stare at the ceiling of the car, letting my tears pool up on the edges of my eyes. Hopefully they’ll soak back in before we stop. Leaning forward right now would make them spill over. I don’t want to cry in front of my cousins. I don’t want to cry in front of anyone. Actually, while I’m wishing, I don’t want to cry at all.
    â€œDinner!” Aunt Nicole calls.
    I’m already in the dining room. Like maybe if I’m still enough or quiet enough, no one will notice me. I’m hungry today and dying for dinner, which is why I’m here. Uncle Rob cracks open a beer. My spine freezes. Trent grabs a sip when his dad sets it down and gets a dirty look for it.
    The smell hits my nose. That’s it. My stomach clenches up, and it takes everything I have to not fall into a panic attack right at the table. Beer and cigarette smoke. Nothing takes me back to that horrible place like the smell.
    The Mooresons’ house disappears. The dining room turns into dingy white walls, thick cigarette smoke, and the stale beer breath of the last man who lived with us. He was by far the worst of them.
    â€œJoy?” Aunt Nicole asks. “Are you okay?”
    But their house and my old house all swim together in a mess I can’t sort out.
    I stand up and run out of the dining room before the picture of him takes over my mind, and then, because I’m crazy, takes over my body. Guilt runs through me, on top of feeling stupid. I know Aunt Nicole worked on dinner for a long time. I run up the stairs to the room, closing the door behind me.
    I shove the man’s face from my memory. I don’t want him there. One day we’ll have the technology to erase memories, and he’s where I’ll start.
    After a few minutes in the quiet, my heart slows. There’s nothing in here from my old life. Louisa, the social worker from Bakersfield, California, thought I might want something from the trailer Mom and I had called home, but I didn’t. I even threw away the clothes I wore the day I left.
    The new room I stay in is clean. The walls are a soft green. The trim and shelves are white. The bed is white. The comforter is white. Aunt Nicole offered to change it for me, but I declined. It feels sterile, safe. I sit on the beige carpet, my legs crossed in front of me.
    Footsteps on the stairs about ten minutes later, and I’m sure it’s Aunt Nicole coming to check on me.
    â€œJoy? It’s Tara.”
    Not Aunt Nicole. How do I feel about this? I’m not sure. Tara’s okay. She’s been really nice, but I don’t know if it’s because she actually likes me or if she’s just nice to everyone, like her mom is.
    â€œI’m not going to come in and I don’t want to bother you, but I know Mom’s scared. Are you okay?”
    I picture her leaning against the doorframe, her face close to the crack. If I was nicer, I’d let her in, but overreacting makes me feel stupid,