“We know you received a threatening message today,” the policewoman says, and I wonder if this is how they solve crimes these days, watching online videos and waiting for something horrible to happen.

I nod and sit on the sofa. Behind me, Danny is whispering something to Michael, and I feel the camera zoom in on my face.

The policeman looks at them. “This is a private matter.”

Danny shrugs and says, “It’s Monday.”

“You only know about it because of them,” I tell the officers. “They have to stay.”

The policeman looks annoyed but doesn’t argue.

The woman does all the talking then. “Do you have any idea who might have sent them?” she asks.

I shake my head, wondering what this will do to my ratings.

“Could it have been the man you met on Saturday?”

“Ross? How…”

I look at Danny, who shrugs again, and I realize the police are paying attention, that the show is doing its job.

“It’s not him,” I say. “He doesn’t have my number.”

But what if it is? What if I’m not as good at spotting horrific people as I thought?

“Someone at school then? Do you have any…” She lets me fill in the blank.

“Enemies?” I say. “No, I don’t think so.”

“We are taking this very seriously,” the policewoman says. “A threat has been made against your life. Has anything else strange happened recently?”

You mean apart from me agreeing to be filmed and conducting police interviews in front of the whole world?

“No,” I say.

She hands me a card. Her name is Lorraine. “If you think of anything, please call me.”

I nod, and they leave without saying goodbye to my father.

Whatever happened when it was just the three of them, he clearly didn’t make a good impression.

When they are gone, I go back to the living room, hoping to explain before Dad comes out fighting. But he’s standing up, pointing for me to sit.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” I tell him.

I’ve waited a long time for my dad to laugh again but not like this. A single “Ha!” is followed by a shake of the head. Then he points again until I’m sitting, and it feels strange not looking down at him.

He starts pacing the room, and I wonder if I’ve pissed my dad off so much that he’s finally going to shout over his grief. A part of me hopes I have. But when he talks, it’s slow and quiet.

“I agreed to this,” he says, “because you said it was for your mother.”

“It is.”

“Someone threatened you. Is that what you wanted?”

“It’s a joke. It’s probably someone at school.”

“And if it’s not?”

Dad’s top lip twitches, and he won’t look me in the eye.