"I don't really feel like talking, Dad," I said. I didn't sit up, and I didn't take off my headphones.

For a second I let myself enjoy the insane fantasy that he wasn't coming to talk to me about what

had happened with Emma and Amy, he was coming to talk to me about something completely

different. Lucy, last night at O'Hare I had an

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epiphany. What a nightmare you've been living. I am so incredibly sorry for everything I've put

you through, and I hope you can forgive me. Mara and I are getting a divorce. You and I are

moving back to San Francisco. Please pack up your stuff and be ready to leave for the airport in

an hour.

"Lucy, this is all very upsetting to me. What exactly happened last night?"

I sat up. "What is it you'd like to know, exactly}"

He seemed surprised by my answer, or maybe it was just my tone. Either way, he hesitated for a

second before saying, "Well... I guess I'd like to know what's going on."

I took my earphones out. "Really, Dad? Would you really like to know what's going on?"

He shook his head from side to side, already annoyed. "Lucy, you--"

"Okay, Dad, why don't I tell you what's going on. Here's what's going on. You get married. You

move me out here, you leave me with these people I barely know, you act like we're all supposed

to magically become this family, and then you run back to San Francisco so you can get to work

on your 'big case.' So you can get to be the happy, bi-coastal newlywed who doesn't have to give

up the biggest, greatest, most important, most fabulous, most incredible, most important, most

mind-boggling case in the universe. You just dump me here and--"

"Lucy, I didn't dump you here. You live here. This is your--"

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"Oh, wait, wait, wait!" I said, waving my arms. "Let me guess. Um ..." I put my hand up to my forehead and closed my eyes, like a game-show contestant who just needs a few seconds more to

think of the right answer. "It's my ... home. Right? Am I right, Dad?" I nodded my head with

fake enthusiasm.

He crossed his arms and leaned against the banister. "Lucy, I thought we'd talked about how

sarcasm isn't really helpful."

"Oh really, Dad? Then you tell me. What's helpful? What's helpful, Dad? Because let me tell you

something. This is not my home." I pointed at him. "You're my home. You, Dad. Not Mara. Not Emma and Amy. You. Or you were. But I guess I don't really have a home anymore, now do I?

And I guess that's not all that important to you, is it? That's just not as big a deal as your great big

case." I stared at him for a long minute, and then I lay back down and felt around the bed for my

headphones.

For a long beat, my dad was quiet, and then he said, "Lucy, it's--"

"You know what, Dad, I really don't feel like talking to you anymore. So if you don't mind, could

you please leave me alone?" I slipped my earphones back on and turned up the volume as loud as

I could stand it.

My dad didn't move, and I closed my eyes. When I opened them, he was gone.

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Chapter Twenty-six

I spent almost the whole weekend downstairs, sleeping or pretending to be asleep, not bothering

to pick up my cell when it rang or to check my voice mail. The last thing I could deal with was

telling Connor, Jessica, and Madison that I'd chosen the week before prom to tell my dad off in a

way that guaranteed I'd be grounded for life. When I heard my dad and Mara go out for dinner

Saturday night, I went upstairs and made a peanut-butter sandwich, then grabbed two bags of

baby carrots and a box of Muslix to see me through. Sunday afternoon, Emma and Amy's dad

dropped them off; later one or both of them knocked at my door, but I didn't respond.

I got up early Monday morning; the house was quiet and my dad's briefcase was still in the

downstairs hallway, which was unusual but not unprecedented. Once in a while he flew out to

California on Monday morning

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instead of Sunday evening. How ironic--the first time in months he was around for an extra night

and we weren't speaking to each other.

At lunch on my way to the studio, I ran into Connor.

"Yo, Red," he said. "Why didn't you call me back?" He slung his arm around my shoulder and started walking me in the same direction he'd been headed.

"Oh, god," I said. "I was having the worst weekend." It felt really nice to have Connor's arm around me as we walked together.

"That sucks, Red," he said. "You want to come to the gym with me?" He mimed lifting a set of free weights. "You know--root for the home team." He adopted the posture of a bodybuilder

posing for admirers. "Me and Dave and Matt are gonna lift for a while. It'll be so much cooler if

you're there."

Connor circled me, dribbling an imaginary basketball. "And he moves it up the court. He sets up

the shot. He scores!" Connor threw his hands over his head, victorious, and made the sound of a

crowd cheering wildly.

"Nice one," I said.

"Thanks, Red," he said, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist.

It felt so good to stand there with Connor holding me. It was like the whole horrible fight with

my family hadn't even happened. Tie nuzzled the back of my neck.

"I missed you, Red," he said.

And right then and there, I made a decision. Even if

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my dad grounded me, I was going to the prom. If I had to run away and live out the rest of my

days on the streets, so be it. Connor was taking some other girl over my dead body.

I turned around and we kissed. "I missed you, too," I said, when we finally came up for air. Had I really been grossed out by his kiss Friday night? Clearly my brain had experienced exposure to

some toxic chemical or something.

I went in for another kiss.

"Mmm, nice," he said, pulling away. "So you gonna come to the gym?"

Watching Connor, Dave, and Matt lift weights didn't exactly sound like the most exciting way to

spend a period, but Connor was the only bright spot in my otherwise dismal life. If he wanted me

to watch him work out, I'd watch him work out.

"Let me just finish this one thing," I said. My landscape was going about a million times faster than my self-portrait ever had, but I was still behind since I'd started on it so late. I'd sworn to

Ms. Daniels that I'd have it finished by the end of the week, and one section was proving almost

impossible to get right. "Give me twenty minutes."

"You know it," he said, backing away. God, he was handsome; I could still feel his lips on mine.

"Be there or be square."

Sam was leaving the studio as I was walking in, and since

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I was in my usual post-Connor-kiss haze, I barreled right into him.

"You know, art is not normally a contact sport," he said.

"I'm really sorry," I said. Clearly Connor needed his own warning label: do not attempt to resume normal activity within five minutes of kissing this person.

"No, it was all me," said Sam. "I'm running late."

I bent down and picked up the pen he'd dropped on the floor when we collided. "For a very

important date?"

"Thanks," he said, taking the pen and slipping it into his back pocket. "For a very unpleasant date, actually. I've got to get my tux."