is this really part five? it must be!

She hands me a granola bar. “Thanks.” I get up to grab some orange juice and see my iPod laying on the counter. I bend to pick it up. “Clayre, no.” “What? No what? No orange juice?” I'm so bewildered. Nothing about any of this conversation is making any sense to me. “Clayre, remember? I took your iPod away. You were in a fight at school today. You threw things at Tim!”

My granola bar drops. My head is spinning. There's a roaring in my ears. She reaches out and takes my iPod! My hands are clenched and shaking. My whole body's clammy and my vision's blurry. The flowered curtains are swimming in front of me. All I can see as tears rush to my eyes are Roger Daltrey's and Pete Townshend's faces, exclaiming, “Why, Clayre? Why would you abandon us?” Visions of a silent, lonely world surround me, and I see myself having to listen to Parker, Sam, and Elijah calling me names, or have nowhere to turn to if I have a bad day. That may seem dramatic, but to me, music is life, is air. I would rather die than be without it.

Before I know it I'm standing up, pushing away my chair, and stalking out the door. “Clayre!” Mom shrieks, “Where are you going? You're not strong enough to walk much yet! Clayre!” Her voice turns icy cold, and I can't fathom how much hell I'm going to be in when I come back. But I need to escape.

My feet know the way. Finally, finally, I've made it to Sunny Oaks, Dad's nursing home. I burst in the front door guest entrance, sweating and gasping. The nurse recognizes me. “Hi, Clayre! Your dad's in the backyard.” Nodding to her, I'm down the hall, around the corner, past the wing of the patients' rooms, and out the Exercise Room's door. Dad's strolling along with a book under his arm- To Kill a Mockingbird, Mom's favorite book. He must be missing her again.

“Daddy!” I jump into his arms, forgetting that I'm seventeen and that I'm acting like a baby in public. With an, “Oof!”, Daddy hugs me tight. I breathe in the smell of him: old books, hair gel, and recently, medicine. But I'm not worried, because Dad says it's just stress relievers.

I can't believe how much I miss him all the time. He can't come home anymore, even though he's perfectly fine. He works from the rest home, but all he's allowed to do is legal writing. Daddy's awfully bored all the time, and I feel so badly for him but I can't do anything. I love visiting him though. I wish I could come here every day and just talk to him, but I can't. And I want him to come home!

“What's wrong, sugar bee?” Daddy's face is concerned. I instantly feel badly. I only see him a couple of times a week and now I've made him worried right off the bat! But suddenly my eyes are hot and my face is wet. I realize that I'm crying and the whole story just flows out of me.

“And even though I didn't do anything, my iPod's gone!” I end my story, gasping for breath and it's only after I've sucked down about a gallon of air that I notice Daddy's silent. He pats my hand and walks me to a nearby bench. “Honey, I know you're not going to like this, but you messed up my coming here. You could have tried to explain what happened, but instead you ignored your mother and ran away. I know how had a rough day, kiddo, but Elizabeth and I taught you better than that. You've disappointed me twice, Clayre Michelle. First by ignoring your mother and second by running away from your problems."

He stops talking and I let his words wash over me. He's right, I know, and I feel my face turning bright red as hot waves of shame wash over me. I look down at my shoes, wanting to sink into the mulch.

Daddy continues. “I'm sorry, honey, but I agree with your mother. Even though there wasn't actually a fight at school, you threw books around and made a scene. Did she say how long your iPod's gone for?”

I should have known Dad would take Mom's side. Ever since the accident he's been careful to thank Mom all the time and stuff. He really missed her.

“She didn't say,” I mumble grouchily to the ground. A worm suddenly pops out of the ground and I wish I was that worm. School would be so much nicer if I could burrow into walls.

I leave after Dad's nurse calls him in. We sat the rest of my visit in silence, me thinking about not thinking about my purloined music, and Dad probably thinking about what a failure of of a daughter I am.