I am 9 years old. My nose is cold and so is the metal of the seat belt as I pull it across my chest. It’s 5:30, already dark, and my mom, my sister, and I are driving to McDonald’s for dinner. The McDonald’s is across the street from the Marlboro Motor Lodge, where we live, and it’s cheap, so we eat there most nights. We’ve been living at the motel for two weeks, ever since things got uncomfortable at her friend’s house, where we’d been staying in their semi-finished basement for the five...











