Stacy shook her head but didn’t argue—she knew something had been off with their mother lately, something beyond being an overworked single mother—instead, she revealed her anger in code—with clenched jaws and white knuckled fists. Her sister would never say these things because according to her unspoken rules, if you didn’t say it, it didn’t exist. “She said she’d be right back. We should stay here.” The paper cone that held her cotton candy crumpled in her grip. A cloud of blue sugar fell to the asphalt.