And, okay, in my defense, I wasn’t supposed to use the stove when my moms weren’t home and so I thought having what turned out to be amaretto from the cabinet, instead of anything that involved boiling water, was a safe and suitable substitution.

Until a few glasses later when Rebecca barfed on the couch.

In that order.

I, upset, also barfed on the couch.

(Wow this story has way more mention of barfing than I was expecting. Anyway. . .)

At which point Millie opened the door to the sight of two innocent little girls sitting on the couch covered in barf and crying. I immediately confessed once I’d stopped barfing (not that I could hide what had happened because I was literally sitting in it).

Rebecca moved to Maine the next year. To this day I can’t drink tea or smell almonds without feeling a little sick.

In that particular example, Lucy wasn’t the new vice principal of my school. And no one’s backyard was on fire. Also, in that example, I did the thing I was in trouble for.

On the night that I returned home from possibly the worst party ever, I could see as soon as I set eyes on her that Lucy was not up to hearing my side of the story. She stalked back and forth across the carpet, making this gesture that involved holding out and stretching her fingers, like she was trying to grab something very big that was hovering in front of her. Millie, meanwhile, sat in her robe, on the couch with a nervous-looking Monty in her lap.

When Lucy finally stopped pacing, I thought she might puke, she was so mad. “Why were you at Tanner Spencer’s house?”

“I was invited to a party by one of his friends,” I said. “It’s not like I broke in.”

Lucy folded her arms over her chest suggesting she might think that was exactly what I did.

“Tell us what happened,” Millie said.

“Berry and I went to the party. It was at Tanner’s house, which you know. They were all drinking. We were not. We hung out for a bit. I tried to talk to Sarah about the play. She did not want to hear anything I said. She like reverse-racism-ed me. Tanner asked us to go. Berry went to the bathroom. We heard people screaming. We came out and the grass was on fire. Berry got a shovel and we helped them put the fire out.” I looked from Millie to Lucy. “That’s it.”

I couldn’t tell if Lucy was listening. She’d started pacing again halfway through my riveting but succinct story.

“Lucy,” Millie said quietly, over the sound of Monty whining.