Something to do. Odilie wondered if her parents had thought to invite her or if it was Page’s idea. They hadn’t seen her in months and she hadn’t run into them, either. She wondered if they had heard whisperings of her, if it had traveled to them who her new companion was, whether her parents would approve of Peri as a friend. They, like all the locals, harbored sharp suspicions about the summer dwellers. But they liked their money.

Odilie put on one of her new pairs of jeans. Peri had been right; two months later and Odilie could slip them on easily. She did her makeup, highlighting her newly formed cheekbones, whipping the mascara wand over her lashes. She smoked a cigarette in her bathroom, ashed it in the sink. She smoothed out her brows, plucking the stray hairs just the way Peri had taught her.

When she stepped into her parents’ house, all the lights were on, the table set, the smell of a steaming tuna casserole making its way into Odilie’s arched nostrils. The scent made her want to gag, nicotine and stimulants sloshing together in her shrunken stomach. She sat in her spot at the table, waited for them to join her.

Her father shuffled in first, squinted at her. “You look nice,” he said shortly before making himself comfortable at the head of the table. He was silent after that, his eyes on the newspaper. Soon, her mother came in, too, with the food. She asked Odilie to get the salad from the kitchen. It was only when they were alone together back there, her mother filling up the water pitcher, that she studied Odilie, her new shadows and hollows.

“It’s different. You look different. Don’t forget the dressing.” And Odilie went to grab it, her fingers worrying the label on the bottle.

Soon, they were all seated at the table, Page bounding down the stairs at the last moment, her hair shiny and twisted on top of her head, her brown eyes alive and glistening. “Nice jeans,” she said to Odilie before diving into the casserole. No one questioned Page serving herself first.

“We have some news,” her mom beamed, passing the salad to Odilie’s dad. She had that quake in her voice, the proud one that reverberated while she gleefully kept others in suspense. Odilie sank lower in her chair, took a sip of her water. No one had noticed her empty plate, that she hadn’t bothered to serve herself.