“Do I think you’re corny enough?”

“So is that a yes or a no?”

She reaches past me, taps the link, and an empty email opens.

I type before I can second-guess myself.

A few moments later an email pops back and my stomach yips.

Thank you for contacting us.

No problem, thanks for being contactable.

We will make all effort to reply . . .

Okay, I like the sound of all effort. Most of the time we don’t even make minimal effort, so.

. . . within two weeks of receipt.

That sound you heard? Air whooshing from my sails.

We have less than thirty-two hours.

Which means, this is a good time to activate plan B.

You know, if plan B existed.

“So, what do we do now?” Autumn asks, or maybe my brain asks—hard to say.

“If we can at least get into the audience tomorrow, I can figure out the rest.”

Autumn nods. Takes the keyboard. Screens opening and closing in such rapid sequence I barely register the blinking, flitting arrow.

“So, when are you gonna admit you work for a shadowy government agency?”

She laughs. “Why is every government agency shadowy?”

“Shady?” I offer up.

She grins. “Shady works.”

“Check out what I found on my dad’s computer. I forgot about these.”

Autumn strains to see. “What is it?”

I tap a couple of keys. “Home videos. There’s, like, at least a hundred clips.”

“Oh, wow, that’s like a family diary or something.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you’re right.” I scroll through the list. “You think it’s weird if I download them to my phone?”

“Umm, I think it’s weirder if you don’t.”

I keep scrolling, looking for a good place to start.

“Let’s watch one.” She tilts her head. “If you’re up for it.”

I tap Play.

Dad: I’m just trying out my new camera. Trying to get a feel for it.

Jamal: Funny because it’s giving me the same feelings as your last camera.

Dad: Hahaha, cute, Jamal. Now turn around and look at me. You too, Quincy.

Mom: Andre, would you please let these boys finish their homework.

Dad: You’re right, baby. School comes first. I’ll turn it off.

Jamal: Yayyy!

Dad: AFTER you two answer one question.

Jamal: Ohmigod, Dad.

Quincy: It’s one question, Jamal.

Dad: See, Q’s reasonable. Thank you, Q. If you ever need a place to live . . .

Whit: Dad’s back at it.

Jamal: Why are you in my room, Whit? And where’d you even come from?

Whit: I could sense someone was being tormented, so I had to come see.

Jamal: Well, you’ve seen, now you can crawl back to your hovel.

Mom: Jamal! Apologize to your sister! And I better not hear you say something like that again, you hear me?