“The big deal is that you’re still hiding, and it doesn’t make any sense because everyone knows!”

“I’m not hiding!”

“You’re hiding. And you’re ashamed.”

“I am totally not ashamed. I just haven’t told my parents. Because they know anyway.”

“But you haven’t told them.”

“I didn’t need to. They had the neighbors to tell them, didn’t they?”

I tell her about Kristina and the lie. I tell her about the week at school. Still, she’s snarky.

“You should just grow a pair and come out.” She tries to say this jokingly.

“I will,” I say, feeling like a scolded kid. I get out of the car without a kiss or an I love you, and I practice the whole way home in the car.

Okay. I have something to tell you. I love Dee Roberts, and I’d really like it if you could accept her as my girlfriend and we could just put this week behind us.

I’m sorry it took me so long to talk about this, but I was scared. I love Dee Roberts, and I want you to meet her so you can love her, too.

Okay, I can tell you the truth now. I love Dee Roberts, but I’m still a virgin.

Look, I know you need the truth. I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you, but this isn’t easy. I have a girlfriend.

When I walk into the house, no one is around. There is no one to say any of my practiced lines to. I use this as a sign from the gods that it’s just not time yet. My brain people say: You will not be pressured.

After I clean my room, I continue to compile my enormous list of questions for the Socrates Project. It’s amazing how many questions can come from Equality is obvious. First, to define equality. Then to define obvious. I mean, I can even try to define is if I want, because equality isn’t really working in the present tense, is it?

Because equality isn’t really obvious to most people.

And I don’t mean to say the world is filled with racists or sexists or homophobes. I mean to say: Everybody’s always looking for the person they’re better than.

In fourth grade, it’s the second graders. In ninth grade, it’s the eighth graders. Adults look at teenagers like we’re the stupidest creatures on the planet, when really we’re just lining up to take their jobs in T-minus five years.

I am equal to a baby and to a hundred-year-old lady. I am equal to an airline pilot and a car mechanic. I am equal to you. You are equal to me. It’s that universal.

Except that it’s not.

When Ellis appears at the dinner table, she is in full sulk.

Mom says some stuff to her without looking, and then when Ellis doesn’t answer, she turns and says, “That does it! I call an impromptu Mommy and Me night!”

“No,” Ellis says.

“I’m not taking no for an answer,” Mom says, and she proceeds to drag Ellis from the chair and up the steps.

By the time Dad gets home with the pizza, the two of them are screeching like preteens, and all is back to normal. If you want to call this normal. Mom tells him that she’s made reservations at the country club. “Don’t wait up!” she says.

He looks at me and tosses the pizza onto the table, and I dish out a little salad and pour iced tea, and we’re both on our second piece of pizza when Mom and Ellis leave through the front door without saying good-bye.

I think again about how Dad and I could fix this. I mean, he could be warmer, right? Not so disconnected and stoned? He could at least say “Have a good time!” and demand a kiss or something. And I could giggle with them and show them that it doesn’t bug me that I’m not invited. Because I’m over it.

He leans back and reaches into the fridge for a beer.

“Want one?”

I consider it for a second. “No, thanks.”

He closes the fridge door, twists the cap off his beer and drinks.

They say: My God, look at him. He’s like a dog in a cage.

“So, here’s to this week being over,” he says. He holds up his glass, and I pick up my iced tea and clink with him, and we both drink.

“The curtains look great,” I say.

“Shoot me now,” he says.

“I’m really sorry I put you through all that.”

“You mean the curtains or the other shit?”

“All of it,” I say. “I hate lying to you. But I can’t tell her anything or else—you know.”

“No. Or else what?”

I sigh. “Or else she’ll ruin it?”

“Oh, that,” he says, and takes another drink. “Yeah.”

I go to bed after the SNL Weekend Update, and I hear him come up at around one. I don’t hear Mom and Ellis come in. I remember waking up at around four and fearing that they’d both been in an accident. I remember wondering how it would feel to lose them.

My alarm goes off at five. I take a quick shower and see that Ellis’s shoes are on the floor in the bathroom. This makes me happy, because I want to make things okay, because she’s my sister and I still want to save her from the flying monkeys.

On Sunday morning, I ask Juan, “Why do people love shrimp so damn much?” He shrugs and drops the box on the sink’s edge for me, and I start deveining before six. Dee is late and gets in at 6:15.

“Oversleep?”

“Forgot to set my alarm.” She turns to Juan. “Sorry.”

“Slow day, ladies. You’ll be out of here by ten, I bet.” He goes to the schedule on the wall. “And no work at all next weekend. Have a happy holiday, yo.”

Once I get set up with my knife and my shrimp, Dee asks, “Did you do it?”

“Do what?”

She lets her face fall into a disappointed scowl. “Forget it,” she says, and goes back to her brassicas.

“Nobody was home,” I say. “What was I going to do? Wake them up at five this morning? I didn’t know you were on a strict schedule.” I’m aware that came out a little bitchy, but she’s being too pushy, so I don’t care.

“Sorry,” she says.

After some silence, she says, “You ready for your big day this week?”

“Yep,” I say. “I still have to make my toga.”

Jorge hears this. “You having a toga party?”

“Kinda.”

“Jorge, you didn’t know that Astrid here is a brain? She’s, like, a real live philosopher.”

“Seriously?” Jorge asks.

I smile. “I guess.”

He nods. “So what’s your philosophy on shrimp?”