Megan stopped crying for a second, her blue eyes peeking out from behind her fingers.

She looked at me, then her gaze flicked down to my laptop bag.

She saw the silver corner of the casing.

Her face went pale, the artificial flush draining away instantly.

She knew what was on there, even if our parents didn’t.

“What is that?” my mother demanded, noticing Megan’s stare.

“Something you need to see,” I said.

I reached down and grabbed the strap of my laptop bag.

I pulled the heavy plastic zipper all the way open.

The teeth made a sharp, clean sound in the quiet room.

I lifted the heavy laptop out and set it on the table.

I slid the paper deed out of the way.

I flipped the lid open, the screen glowing bright and blue against the dark room.

I didn’t touch the pen.

I slid the blue ballpoint back toward the center of the table, right over the line where my signature was supposed to go.

“I am not signing over my home,” I said, keeping my voice level.