Kiki was sure that her Momma was wrong. Really truly, truly sure. So sure, she could taste the wrong-ness on her tongue. She rubbed the top of her tongue against her teeth, trying to scrape off the bitter taste. When she was happy Momma tasted like peaches baked in a cobbler, comforting and syrupy. Kiki wrinkled her nose and buried deeper under the covers. She wasn’t supposed to know about the wrong-ness, about the guns and the clothes, and the big piles of paper scribbled all over with blue. She was supposed to be asleep, not listening to Charlie, or Ross, or Parker, or any of the others that were gathered in the living room. It all tasted so bitter.

She waited until they had left, pretended to be sleeping when Momma came to give her a last goodnight kiss. They were Up To Something, and Kiki was going to find out what.