Keith felt invisible in the living room. They'd forgotten he was even here. Which was okay, really. He didn't need to be noticed, singled out. He didn't need to be picked on. He and Carrie used to compete for their parents' attention; now they competed for their neglect. Keith did, at any rate. About his sister, he wasn't so sure. He wondered if she was looking for attention, if that's why she was doing some of the stuff she was doing. If it was a Cry for Help. He'd read about Cries for Help. He'd read a lot of self-help pop-psychology books in the past three months. Carefully, though. He didn't take them out of the library, where they could be traced. But whenever he could get into the city, to a big store, in a big mall, he'd saunter over to the personal growth section, the coping-with-your-neuroses section. He was fortunate in that Mental Health was often located near Physical Health, so it was easy for him to do a quick turn, a sudden shift, and appear engrossed in Protein Power, or some other bodybuilders' bible. He would get one of those books for the top of the stack, a decoy, a beard.

He stored his library not under the bed -- too obvious -- but in his spare gym bag, where the stench would frighten away the most persistent spy. Once he'd read the books, gleaned what he could, made copious notes, he'd ditch them. Leave them in a bag hanging on the library door after hours. Or put them in the donations drop-box at the Daughters of the Dominion store. Or toss them in a dumpster, depending on his balance of guilt and altruism at that moment.

Some of the books were abstract and fluffy, others were straight and to the point. Feeling Good. The Parentcare Survival Guide: Helping Your Folks Through the Not-So-Golden Years. Some were irrelevant (so far) like Life After Divorce. He couldn't see his parents lasting much longer though, and it had been on sale, so it seemed like a good idea to buy it. He found himself reading some of these compulsively, with a strange fascination for both the contents and the readers. Love Yourself Thin. If the Buddha Dated. Who bought this crap? Who believed it would make a difference? Keith did, even if he wouldn't admit it. He read voraciously about disorders he didn't have (Men With Anorexia), venturing eventually into the realm of Women's Health (Hypothyroidism and Your Fertility). The teenaged-boy lizard-brain part of his psyche flickered into action -- if he read all of these books, if he made the effort to understand them, he could make himself irresistible to women. The paranoid half of his psyche thought that this would be the perfect excuse if he ever got caught.

Today, concealed amongst the calculus and chemistry, was a book on overcoming alcoholism. This he was reading for his sister; he knew she'd started drinking, and according to experts in the field, the earlier you start, the harder it is to stop. It affects your body chemistry.

And he had an ulterior motive. He wanted to get caught. He wanted Carrie to get caught.

Her marks had been slipping. She'd missed classes. She'd started smoking and drinking. And their parents hadn't said a thing.

He didn't expect much reaction from their dad, not now. But their mother? What was her excuse? Sure, this had been rough on her too, but come on! Was she just going to abandon ship like this? Leave them to their own devices, to fend for themselves? Let his sister get away with murder? Forget it. It made his blood boil just thinking of it. No one ever gave him his own set of car keys.

Keith could feel his temperature rise, a flush come to his face. He was barely aware of his fingers reaching for his throat, to see if his pulse had risen along with his blood pressure. Heart rate definitely far above the optimal resting rate of sixty beats per minute, he counted to ten slowly, concentrated on his breathing. He could conquer this, he was strong enough, and more important than that, he wanted to be strong.