The Opposite of Hallelujah Read Online Free Page B

a little on the way home, so I wasn’t totally hammered or anything, but even when I was tipsy, it was hard to stop myself from swaying. “No.”
    “You’re lying.”
    There wasn’t much I could say to that. “I’m sorry,” I told him.
    “No, you’re not,” he said with a sigh.
    I stared at the floor. “Are you going to tell Mom?”
    “Not this time.” He got up and walked over to me. “Look at me, Carolina.”
    I met his eyes and saw the disappointment in them. It never failed to make me feel small. I bet he never looked at Hannah that way. Hannah was perfect. It was a lot to live up to, and I didn’t even want to be perfect; I wanted to be me . But somehow, with St. Hannah always hanging over my head, that didn’t seem like enough.
    “Your mom’s very stressed out about Hannah,” he said. “The last thing I’m going to do is give her an ulcer by telling her about this. But I’m watching you, kid. No more sneaking out, no more talking back to us, nomore being mean about Hannah. You’re going to treat everybody in this house with the love and respect they deserve, or so help me, you will regret it.”
    “Fine,” I said, turning away. “Threatening your daughter. Super-great parenting, Dad.” I gave him a very sarcastic thumbs-up.
    “It’s not a threat, Caro,” Dad said. “It’s a promise.”

3
    Dad knocked on my door early the next morning.
    “Get up,” he commanded, poking his head in.
    I hid under the covers and groaned. It was only eight, on a weekend, in the summer . I refused on principle to rise before ten.
    Dad yanked the covers all the way off. “Get up,” he repeated. “Your mom’s making breakfast.”
    “Hannah’s not even here yet,” I whined, burying my face in a pillow.
    “This is a special day. Mom feels like making breakfast. Remember what I said last night—or were you too drunk?”
    “Fine!” I shouted. “I’ll be out in a second.”
    He came back fifteen minutes later to find me curled up, clutching one of my pillows and snoring lightly.
    “Caro, I swear, if you’re not up and out of that bed in two seconds flat—”
    “Okay!”
    “I’m not leaving until I see you walk out this door,” Dad said, standing aside so that I could pass. I rolled out of bed and got to my feet, glaring at him as I stepped into the hallway and trudged to the kitchen.
    “Good morning, sunshine,” Mom said, abnormally chipper.
    “Morning,” I grumbled. “Pancakes?”
    “Or French toast—what would you like?”
    “Um …” I weighed my options carefully. “French toast.”
    Mom slid two slices onto a plate and put it down in front of me. “When does Derek come home?” she asked, like she had any interest in the answer to that question. Sweet of her to try, though.
    “Today,” I said glumly. I didn’t know what I was more apprehensive about—Hannah’s arrival, or Derek’s. I just had this feeling that something was about to go horribly awry, but I couldn’t decide which was the doomed homecoming. The uncertainty sat in my stomach like a brick and refused to move, no matter how much French toast I consumed.
    “Oh, bad timing,” she said. “But you can see him tomorrow.”
    “Thanks for the permission,” I snapped. I could feel my parents’ glares at my back, but I didn’t care. They were used to this. It was how we interacted. They built the walls; I pushed against them; they pushed back. It was our family dynamic. We loved each other, the three of us, and I never said anything that was too bad to be instantaneously forgiven (aside from that one time). But now that Hannah was coming home, they were suddenly sensitive.
    “Don’t talk to your mother like that,” Dad said from the other side of the Trib .
    “Like what?” I slammed my fork down on the table and pushed my plate away. “Like she’s ruining my life ?” I knew how melodramatic it sounded, what a ridiculous thing it was to say, but that ugly, gnawing fear was working away at my insides. All