“Go bother somebody else,” he tells his sister.

“But we like bothering you.”

The Karate Kid is on TV.

“This is such a bad movie,” one of the friends says.

“The original is much better.”

“The original was pretty stupid, too.”

Jake finally says, “I’m trying to watch,” and eventually they clear out. “Close the door,” he tells me, so I get up and close the door. The den is really his dad’s office, but it’s got a sofa and a TV.

“I think it’s really gonna happen,” I say, sitting back down. “My dad’s moving to London.” This is when it hits me for the first time.

“Are you gonna cry?” Jake says.

“No.”

“Are they getting divorced?” he asks.

I look at him, but he’s looking at the TV. “I don’t know . . . My dad just came back from London, and then my mom walked out. They had a big fight by the elevator. I think he wants us all to move there, but she doesn’t want to.”

We watch the movie for a bit. Two boys are fighting on a mat in front of thousands of people. One of them kicks the other one down; he’s hurt and the crowd starts chanting, but slowly he gets back up, standing on one leg. “I love this part,” Jake says. The hurt kid does a kind of flip and kicks the other one down. People go crazy. “Do you think he has a girlfriend?” Jake asks.

“Who? What are you talking about?”

“Your dad.”

For a second, I can’t figure out what he means. “You know, like, in London,” Jake says. I don’t answer but he’s not trying to be unfriendly. He says, “Your dad is still the kind of guy . . . women like guys like that.” He’s always been embarrassed by his own dad, who works at a pharmaceutical company in New Jersey. Mr. Schultz is not fat exactly, but his shirt is always hanging out of his pants, and he wears the kind of shoes you can walk a lot in. He has a long commute, but whenever I see him come home, he seems in a good mood. Jake wants to be a lawyer. Whenever my dad’s around, Jake’s always very polite. I thought he was just scared, but maybe it’s something else—like he wants to impress him.

“I don’t know.” And all of a sudden I feel bad about telling Jake any of this. It feels like I’m already taking sides. I don’t mean my mom’s side or my dad’s but like I’m outside the family, talking about them. “I’ve got to go,” I say. “We’re going to dinner.”

When I come out of the elevator, my dad is waiting for me in the hall. “Where the heck have you been?” he says. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I told you I went to Jake’s.”

“No, you didn’t. Do you want to go to Carmine’s or not? We don’t have to go. I’ve got plenty of things to do at home.”