“Exactly like that,” Merit said. “You just keep the burner in your backpack, and when dinnertime comes, you put your phone in the bag on the hall table like a good girl and you do your cursory family time on the beach. And then, when it’s just you in your room, you get your burner and continue your Streaks to your heart’s content.”

I was so relieved. “I have spent so much time cultivating my Snapchat life,” I said, realizing how incredibly dorky I sounded. But Merit laughed. Good. He thought I was joking. I totally was not, but I would take it.

“So… how does one get a burner phone?”

He turned his head toward me and gave me this kind of half-smile that made sweat break out behind my earlobes.

“Leave it to me,” he said.

Then something hit me. “Um. I can’t exactly pay for said burner phone right now. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but my financial situation has shifted.”

I was trying to make light of things.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got you. We in the mommune have to stick together.”

I was dying to text my friend Chloe to tell her I was living with Merit McDonald. But, of course, I couldn’t text her because I didn’t have my phone.

“You can’t do that,” I protested.

He shrugged. “My dad throws plenty of pity allowance my way. I might as well share the wealth.” He gave me a once-over, and for just a second I thought maybe he was checking me out. But then he said, “If your dad ever gets out of jail, you’ll totally be owed pity allowance. It doesn’t fix anything, but it’s not the worst perk. Two Christmases aren’t that bad either, once you get used to them.”

I shook my head vigorously. “No, no. My dad might be in jail, but my parents aren’t getting divorced.”

That half-smile again, except this time it was sad. “Ah. Okay.”

“You don’t believe me!” I said, elbowing him flirtatiously at a time that wasn’t really appropriate for flirting.

“I don’t know your life,” he said. “Maybe your mom is different. Maybe she can hang in there through all this.”