My chest tightens up and time seems to slow. The words bubble up and blurt from my mouth before I can stop them. My voice echoes across the kitchen, an unusually cheerful ring, “Okay! Have a great day, asshole!”

My brothers stop chewing their food and stare at the door, their eyes wide, to where my grandmother is standing. She turns her stout body and slams the door behind her. I hear her heavy footfalls stomping on our porch. Her van door slams, and tires squealing as she drives away.

I watch the paper that she threw slide across the floor, no longer feathering through the air. Tears spill onto my cheeks, but not from sadness. An angry growl rumbles from my throat and I hurl my ice cream spoon across the kitchen. It bounces off the door where she was standing, and it clatters to the floor.

The house fills with the sound of dogs barking and skittering across the linoleum, investigating the commotion. I bury my head in my hands, my fingers curl through my hair. I don’t want to look at the paper. I already know what it says. After all, it’s the third eviction notice she’s given us.