“Becca gave me a list of each girl’s dietary restrictions,” John said. “I found McKenna some organic chicken nuggets.”

“McKenna doesn’t watch scary movies,” Mrs. Townsend said, moving rook to bishop.

John nodded. “I’ve already changed the parental settings on all devices in my home,” he lied. He knew censorship was horseshit in a world where every child had the internet in the palm of her hand.

Mrs. Townsend was running out of moves. She glanced around John, at the children and pursed her lips. “Are you CPR trained?”

“Renewed my certificate last year, ma’am.”

“Well...” The flustered woman shrugged her shoulders in a helpless way that made John feel less defensive. She leaned forward and whispered. “This is McKenna’s first sleepover and I’m just...”

John nodded again. “I know you’re worried and that’s natural,” he said. In his line of work, he’d had plenty of time to observe how parents interacted with independent children. Some held on tight and moved aside all obstacles, while others kicked back and relaxed. Mrs. Townsend was in the former category, armed with a bottle of allergy medicine. “I deal with kids all the time at the library and I can say that you’re leaving McKenna with a group of really nice girls. I’m here in the background ready to jump into action if anyone needs me, but tonight is about them...writing feminist manifestos or dabbling in witchcraft.”

The woman’s tight expression softened as she snorted a laugh. “Oh god, you’re right.” She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders with a resolute nod. “Okay. Thank you for saying that. I mean, that’s what we did. Playing Bloody Mary and making prank calls didn’t kill us.”

“Of course not,” John said, patting her on the shoulder. “She’ll be fine.”

It was enough to assure McKenna’s mother as she finally forced herself from John’s doorstep and returned to her car. John shut the door and breathed a sigh of relief. When he turned his attention to the girls, he was met with a disappointing reality; girls could be just as messy and loud as boys. John’s sparsely decorated living room was filled with pillows and blankets, while drink cups were being strewn around the floor and coffee table. Quinoa chips were spilling out of their bag and the no-trans-fat granola cookies found their way onto the floor. The packet of paper plates and napkins were still in their plastic wrap, ignored in favor of each girl simply holding a slice of oil-slicked pizza.

And the sheer noise...