It was Anna who decided we should set up a lemonade stand. My stepsister, five years older and wiser, explained that to earn you must sell.
        "It's all about profits and dividing," Anna said. We were in her bedroom, a place I was rarely allowed. Her sheets were tangled and her comforter was stained. She took a shoebox from underneath her bed and emptied it on the floor. "Since I know how, I'll do the dividing."
        She started sorting through used golf tees. Some of them were broken in half, others still had dirt and grass clinging to them. Displaced lint and dust from the bottom of the box floated in the air. A bit of it stuck to one of Anna's eyebrows.
        "Depending on how much you do, I'll decide your profits. Understand?"
        I knew Anna would end up doing most of the work. I would do the talking. I nodded my head and inched backwards towards her nightstand. There was a chocolate bar and a pair of dangly earrings lying next to the reading lamp. Anna looked up.
        "Yours aren't even pierced, Jess." She tucked her hair behind her ears. I did the same, shrugged my shoulders.
        Anna was always getting new things. Gifts from Tom. My mom said she was spoiled. I thought about telling this to Anna, decided against it.
        "You can't pay me with those," I said, pointing at the tees.

It was July, the middle of long summer days and slow summer heat. The time of year when our dog ran away and returned days later, emptied and fulfilled. We lived in a townhouse on the edge of an aging country club and the golf course bordered our back patio door. When it rained, bare patches of grass turned into mud that smelled of sewage. Neither of us had school and we spent the mornings watching cartoons, the afternoons walking to the corner store for ice cream and soda. At night we stole balls left behind on the driving range, freezing and then cracking them open with a hammer to see what was inside. We peeled away layers of rubber threads wound around another, smaller ball that made liquid noises after it thawed. I wanted to crack that one open, too. Anna always said it was a bad idea. "I'm in charge and I said no. You don't have to know everything."
        There was no point in arguing. It only brought out Anna's temper. My mom told me once that Anna was so angry because her mom had run away with a Texan. I would be upset if my mom lived in a place with tumbleweeds and cheerleaders and Walker, Texas Ranger. I thought Walker was an idiot. He wore a cowboy hat and pretended he knew karate. Anna was really better off here.

The day of our lemonade sale, my mom was getting ready to waitress for a wedding at the club and Tom would be off to the tracks after breakfast. Anna and I set up a card table and folding chairs on the lawn. My mom made two pitchers of juice, filling them with ice cubes and chilling them in the fridge. She put one of the jugs on the top shelf and said we weren't to touch it.
        "This is for grown-up people," she said.
        Tom was sitting at the kitchen table. There was a folded booklet next to a plate of half-eaten eggs and bacon. He grunted occasionally.
        "It's all about the odds," he said.
        I was across from him, hunched over a poster board and going over Anna's pencilled "Lemonade for YOU!" in permanent marker.
        Anna was still outside, making sure our setup was just right. "Advertising and placement are key," she had explained, sending me inside to work on the sign.
        Tom grunted again. "But stats only get you so far."
        I didn't understand what he meant. "Sometimes you just gotta get a good eyeful of the mare and that's enough to see it's a winner." He winked at my mom. She gave him a disapproving look, but I saw her tilt down her chin and smile.
        "Tom," she tutted. She refilled the ice trays and put them in the freezer, then picked up her purse from the counter and blew kisses at us. "See you later," she said. "Won't be back until late."
        I heard the front door open and shut, the keys turning in the lock.
        Anna came inside. Tom twisted in his chair. "Whaddya think of picking a horse? Any horse you want. Just come and circle the name. I'll bring you the winnings."
        "That's okay," she said.
        Tom laughed to himself, looking back down at his booklet. "'Big Hustler.' That sounds like a good one."
        I'd finished tracing and stood up to show Anna the poster. She had her back turned and was stacking plastic cups to bring outside. I put down the sign and stood on my toes to look over Tom's shoulder.
        "Maybe Jess can pick one out. Might be worth a new dress. Something pretty."
        Anna dropped the cups and pushed me aside. "I wanna pick one," she said.
    
The last time I had a new dress, everything went wrong. I'd modelled it the day before Easter in the living room. It was white with a netted petticoat that made it flounce when I walked. There were faux-roses pinned at the waist and a pink ribbon tied into a bow at the back.
        "Very pretty. Pretty little filly," Tom said. Updown, downup look. "Delicious."
        My mom beamed at me. "Now maybe you'll start dressing more girly instead of running around like a boy." She looked at Anna, that look that I knew meant trouble. The hard look. The you'd-better-listen-and-quick look.
        Anna had refused to let my mom buy her an Easter dress even though it was a Gesture of Goodwill. She'd screamed and thrown the dress my mom had chosen for her on the ground, stamping on it with her foot. We'd left the store, my mom holding my hand tightly, her face too red and mouth too small. Anna trailed behind.
        "I don't do dresses." She had been sitting on the edge of the couch, looking down at her hands.
        "Hmph," he'd said. "Little girls are supposed to wear dresses. It teaches them to be women."
        "Hmph," mom had said, crossing her arms.
        Then, later, after we'd dug out all the candy from our Easter baskets, the clingy pastel plastic threads trailed all over the house, after my dress was laid out on the bed, the morning sun making it look even more like a fairy-tale dress, a princess dress, after I had taken my bath and my mom had curled my hair into little corkscrews, after I put on my white tights (shiny shoes to match), only then did I notice that the rosebuds had been torn away. I picked up the dress and the flowers fell to the floor. The seam in back was torn wide open, the fabric ripped in zigzags.
        I didn't speak to Anna for a week.

Outside it was hot and still. The ice in the pitcher had already melted and Anna and I had finished off most of the lemonade ourselves. I was cross-legged underneath the table, the red and white chequered cloth filtering the sunlight, keeping me cool. Anna had changed into cut-offs and had her legs stretched out in front of her.
        "Some help you are," she said.
        I stuck my head out. "No one's here anyway." I crawled from underneath the table and flopped on my back into the grass. "Anna?"
        "Yeah."
        "How come you don't have a mom?"
        "Don't be an idiot," she said. "You know I do."
        "How come she isn't here then?"
        "That's not the way life works."
        I rolled over and propped my head on my hands. "Tom says real life means you hafta walk away with the Better Deal."
        Anna was quiet. I turned over on my back again, wishing that there were clouds so I could guess their shapes.
        "We need more lemonade," Anna said, getting up to go into the house.

The last time I'd heard anything about Anna's mom was when we'd been sitting on the landing at the top of the stairs. We could see through the railings into the living room. My mom and Tom had their backs to us, watching the television.
        "She's busy down there screwing around with her pimp." She shook her head. "And not even looking after her own flesh-and-blood. It's absolutely disgusting." She took a sip from her wine glass. "Let's just hope the apple falls far from that tree."
        Tom nodded. His eyes were still on the television set. Tiny ant-men were running around on the field. Anna had explained second base once, but I didn't see what that had to do with baseball. He yelled at the screen, "Goddamn ump, wouldn't even know your asshole from the inside of your head."
        "For God sakes. Jess will hear you."
        He'd leaned over and jiggled my mom's breasts.
        "Tom," she'd giggled.
        I'd hugged Anna and whispered in her ear, "Is Walker, Texas Ranger a pimp?" She'd pushed me away and tiptoed back to her room, latching the door silently behind her.

Something wet and sticky splashed onto my forehead. I sat up, ready to scream at Anna.
        "Thought you might need some cooling off," Trevor said. Trevor lived two doors down. He was ten, two years older than me. Lemonade was dripping from my face and hair. "You're gonna have to pay for that," I said.
        "Why?" Trevor sniggered. "I didn't drink any."
        Anna was still inside. It was just as well. When the other kids from the neighbourhood came around, Anna made me talk to them. She would stand behind me, her arms crossed over her chest. Some of the others thought Anna was mute. Trevor had once thrown a rock at me, grazing my elbow. Anna hadn't ever said a word. She'd grabbed Trevor's fleeing neck and had kicked him from behind in the nuts.
        Since then, Trevor never bothered me unless Anna was inside.
        "Is your sister a lesbo or something?" Trevor asked. He walked around the table and kicked one of the legs. "I bet you're just like her."
        I didn't know what a lesbo was. "She's not really my sister."
        Trevor laughed and covered his mouth with his hands. He doubled over and then lifted one arm and pointed. I looked behind me. Anna was standing there, holding the other pitcher of lemonade.
        "Fuck. Off. Trevor," she said. He straightened up, his mouth open, and I saw all the silver fillings in the bottom row of his teeth. He closed his mouth, opened it again as if to speak but stuttered instead. He turned and ran away, looking backwards once.
        "I didn't mean it," I said.
        Anna set the pitcher on the table and poured herself a cup.
        "That's the grown-up lemonade."
        She looked into it for a moment and then took a swallow. "So what?"
        "You can't drink that. My mom said so."
        "Who cares what your stupid mom says? She's totally clueless, anyway."
        I wanted to say something back, to stick up for my mom, but I felt bad about what I'd said to Trevor. "You still shouldn't drink it."
        "Shut up, Jess. You're just as clueless as she is."
        I crossed my arms and pouted at her. It was true. She wasn't really my sister.
        "You're just a spoiled brat. Tom gives you everything you want and you don't care about anyone or anything," I yelled. "I'm glad you're not my for-real sister."
        Anna chugged the lemonade and then threw the cup on the grass. Her eyes glazed over and she took a step towards me.
        "Why don't you just go away? Disappear?" She grabbed my arm, twisting and rubbing it until it burned red.

Our television set was massive. Deep and cavernous and cool. The wooden console extended all the way to the floor, and the back panel had been removed by some long-ago repairman and never replaced. I was still small enough to slip into the belly of it, wedging myself underneath the rounded tail of the screen and the siding. I was curled up, the full light of day illuminating the sheathed wires and copper and unknowable things.
        Anna had discovered most of my hiding spots, but I was sure she didn't know about this one. For hours I heard her opening and closing doors. I heard her calling my name in the house, out on the golf course, in the street. Once she was so close I could her breathing. "Jess, please come out," she whined, "Please."
        Finally the house grew quiet and the light coming through the windows dimmed.
        The front door slammed shut. I jumped and banged my head, unsure of where I was. I held my breath, worried that my last secret hiding place had been discovered. I heard Tom cough and clear phlegm from his throat. The clink of metal as he threw his keys on the coffee table. The swoosh of air as he sat in his recliner. The TV clicked on. The insides buzzed and crackled. Blue light from the screen filtered through. I tried to make myself smaller, worried about the nest of wires. This was the time to be careful. The time to be quiet. Tom usually called for us when he came home. He would be looking soon.
        The 6 o'clock news. Time for the weather. (Mostly sunny skies, the possibility of rain later in the week. Heat throughout) Laughter. A brief silence before the next story. (Puppies stuck in a drain. All rescued and expected to make a full recovery.)
        I didn't hear Anna come in the room.
        "You're supposed to be watching Jess," Tom said.
        "She's just up in her room. She threw up."
        "She'll be fine. C'mon over here and sit on my lap."
        "Maybe I should check on her."
        "I've had a hard day," Tom said in a quiet voice. "Come and sit on Daddy's lap."
        The volume on the TV got louder for commercials. (An ad for Tide.) Zipper unzipping. (Removing stains was easier than ever.)
        "Good girl," Tom sighed.