When I get home, Mom is at the kitchen table. Never a good sign.

“Astrid, I need to talk to you.”

I sit down and pretend for a minute that she actually cares about me and is going to say something normal Unity Valley mothers say to their normal Unity Valley daughters.

“Kristina told me that you and Jeff are having problems.”

I think of all the things I could say to this. I say nothing.

“Look. You can talk to me if you want. I can tell you what you need to know about—you know—sex, or whatever the problem is.”

The problem is I’m dating a girl. I say nothing.

“Hmm. Well, Kristina called me today and told me she wanted to take you out this weekend, but you said no, and really, Astrid, the time you need your friends is now. I mean, if you and Jeff are going to break up, you shouldn’t take it out on Kristina.”

This is ridiculous. This is Kristina trying to get me to go out when she knows I don’t want to. My brain people remind me: This is also Kristina trying to help you stop jerking Jeff around. She’s lying to Claire to help you. I remind my brain people that this is also Kristina talking to my mom behind my back, which I don’t like. They reply: But it’s for your own good, and you know it.

“Anyway, just know I’m here for you,” Mom says.

“Okay.”

“And those people calling you a prude were prudes once, too,” she adds.

Great, I think. That’s just great. On the way up the steps, I tell my brain people they can just shut up now.

24

I AM A PUSHOVER. THAT’S WHY THIS SHIT HAPPENS TO ME.

I’M TEN MINUTES LATE to work because I wanted to be. Last I heard from Dee was her abracadabra text message last Sunday, and I didn’t answer, because I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do now.

Juan says, “Big day today. Same as last time, but even bigger.”

“Grande!” Dee sings, high-pitched and with plenty of extra cartoonish vibrato. The guys laugh. I don’t even smile.

Dee and I are awkward by ourselves. We don’t talk or joke while we work, and I ignore her when she asks, “So, are we on for tonight or what?”

We don’t finish the dishes until four. I don’t punch out until 4:10. That’s a ten-hour workday. Juan tells us we don’t have to come in tomorrow, and Dee says, as we toss our aprons into the laundry box, “Come on. Let me make it up to you. You got my text, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You still mad?”

“Yeah. I’m mad at all of you.”

She laughs. “All of me?”

“No,” I say, smiling a little. “All you people who think you can boss me around.”

“You are a pushover. That’s a fact.” She starts dancing a little and smiles at me, and when we get to the parking lot, she says, “Come on. You know you want to. Let me make it up to you, and I promise, no stupid pushy shit.”

I admit I could use a night out away from my house, and I wouldn’t mind a hard lemonade after the cruddy week I had. We get into her car and brainstorm my cover. We totally suck at brainstorming, so I call Kristina.

“I’ll cover you for tonight,” she says. “Claire owes me one.”

“I don’t even want to know what that means,” I say. “Text me with whatever I’m supposed to tell her.” Dee is dancing in place to imaginary music, making a bass sound deep in her throat. I admit I’m excited to go out to Atlantis again. An hour ago, I wasn’t going anywhere tonight. I think: Maybe it’s okay that people talk you into things. Maybe if they didn’t, you’d never go anywhere.

Claire is locked in her office, talking on the phone with a client. You can tell she’s talking to a client because she puts on her New York City accent and talks about three decibels louder.

I find Dad in the quiet room, dozing with a book on his chest. I dust quietly around him, and before I leave, he says, “How’s my favorite daughter?”

“Dad,” I say in that exasperated way. “You can’t say stuff like that.”

He sits up and blinks his eyes hard a few times and stretches. “You know what I miss? Making birdhouses. What are you doing now? We should go make one.”

“I’m doing stuff,” I say. I wiggle the feather duster. “Waiting for her to get off the phone so I can sweep the upstairs.”

“You going out tonight?”

“I hope so.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“This guy a serious thing? Shouldn’t you bring him here to meet me?”

“Nah. Don’t tell Mom, though.”

At seven thirty the doorbell rings.

Claire fast-walks to the door to open it, and I stand up because I can hear Kristina giggling outside, and then Kristina and Donna drag me out the door.

“Have fun, girls!” Mom says.

They lead me down the walk and into a car. Kristina seems to be my best friend again. She even loops her arm through mine rather than Donna’s.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“We’re heading to a clean, fun and safe college sorority party. Which is what I told Claire, and it’s actually true.” She deposits me into the backseat of Donna’s car and then gets into the passenger’s side.

“Are you and Dee okay now?” she asks.

“We’re fine,” I say.

“I’m glad to hear that,” she says in the weirdest voice ever—like she’s not glad to hear it.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. It’s been a weird week,” I say. “I’m just all over the place, I guess.”

“Bummer,” she says. That’s it. Just “bummer.”

For the rest of the drive, Kristina and Donna talk as if I’m not there, and I try not to feel like Kristina’s socially retarded dumbshit friend again.

When we get there, a Lady Gaga song is playing so loud, it’s bouncing the road outside the house. Kristina has talked about spending more time at Donna’s dorm room, but her roommate is a douche, and if she knew Donna was g*y, she’d probably freak out and call an exorcist. So Donna has joined a not-so-official sorority called Gamma Alpha Psi (ΓΑΨ), which is a GLBT hangout with an off-campus house. This is Kristina’s first time here, too.

“We’ve got two hours before we leave. Have some fun. Mingle,” Kristina says as she disappears up the stairs with Donna.