A One-Way Ticket to Happiness

Dad shoved a train ticket into my hand, then fished a crumpled hundred-dollar bill out of his pocket. "I really can't afford to raise you anymore. Your aunt's working down south. Go to her."

I squeezed the ticket so hard my knuckles went white and said in a small voice, "Dad, I can sleep on the floor. I won't take up any space."

He didn't look at me. He just lit a cigarette, grunted, and turned around. He didn't even walk me to the platform.

I couldn't even remember what my aunt, Ava Shore, looked like. All I knew was that she'd left home at 18 years old and hadn't spoken to Dad in years.

The train ride took a full day and night.

An older woman sitting across from me saw that I was just a kid on my own and gave me half of her bun. She asked where I was headed.

I told her I was going south to look for my aunt.

She sighed. "You're still so young. How can your folks…"

I didn't respond. I just leaned against the window and watched the view outside go from dull, dusty gray to endless green.

One thought kept looping in my head—what if Aunt Ava didn't want me, either? She'd cut her own brother off for years. Why would she take in the daughter he'd thrown away?

I'd braced myself to be turned away. Worst case, I'd just live on the streets. I'd already thought it through—if it really came to that, I could always wash dishes at some restaurant. I'd seen it happen on TV.

The train pulled in at 3:00 pm. The southern sun was so bright I had to squint.

I clutched the little slip of paper with Aunt Ava's phone number on it, about to go look for a payphone, when a black MPV rolled to a smooth stop at the station exit.

The door slid open, and a woman with big, loose curls and sunglasses stepped out in high heels. She smelled like perfume and was done up like a movie star.

She took off her sunglasses and looked me over from head to toe. "So, you're the daughter my brother decided he didn't want?"

I nodded, gripping my duffel straps so tight my fingers hurt.

She crouched in front of me, studying my face. Her brows pulled together. "Your hair's a mess. You look like some stray nobody's been looking after."

Oh, no.

I dropped my gaze, waiting for her to tell me to go back home.

Before she could say anything, a boy about my age leaned out from behind her, chewing bubble gum. He gave me a once-over and muttered, "Mom, she looks so lame."

Aunt Ava's hand shot out to grab his ear, giving it a full twist.

He howled in pain. "Ow!"

"Try saying that again. If anyone at school so much as looks at her funny, I'm coming after you first. You hear me?" Aunt Ava snapped.

He rubbed his ear, wincing, but still reached out to take my duffel. "Alright, alright. Damn, that hurts…"

Aunt Ava turned back to me and gently brushed my messy hair off my forehead, tucking it behind my ear. Her touch was so soft that I froze.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go home."

The southern breeze washed over me, warm and scented faintly with flowers.

My eyes stung, and my nose burned. Suddenly, I didn't feel quite so scared anymore.