Lex pulls her hand off the gear shift. She flips her hair to the opposite side, then flips it again moments later. “I know you don’t mean to do it,” she says after a few seconds. “You’re just always trying to encourage me to, like, study for the SATs, or do MAT drills with you, or work on my college essays. And I know you’re trying to be helpful, but it makes me feel like you think I’m not working hard enough.”

“I don’t think that,” I say firmly. “At all. And you going to a non-licensing college is great. I’m sorry I was such a jerk about it.”

“Okay,” Lex says. “You’re forgiven. You have to come to cultural-dinner night soon though and tell my parents how great you think Galpert is. They love you, so maybe they’ll listen when you tell them.”

“Done,” I say, and I hold out my pinkie. She links her pinkie with mine, sealing the promise, and I feel like I’ve made a small step toward redemption in this area.

When I get home, Mom takes one look at me and frowns. “What’s wrong, Shay? Did something happen with that Ana girl?”

That’s so far off base that I let out a laugh, but it sounds more like a sob. “No. I just feel kind of sick.”

“I’ll make you an immune booster,” Mom says, already moving toward the kitchen. I suppress a groan. Her immune-system-boosting potion is, hands down, the worst-tasting potion of all time. It’s just a bunch of boiled garlic with honey, lemon, and an extra infusion of magic from her amethyst crystals. Mom will shove it down your throat to cure you of any and all health problems.

I follow her into the kitchen reluctantly. Dad sits at the table in his usual spot, slumped over. He straightens when he notices me enter. “Sorry about stranding you at school, kiddo.”

“It’s fine. I, um, got a lot of work done. It was relaxing.” I have literally never told a bigger lie in my life, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

He nods slowly. “Well, I’m glad Lex was free to drive you home.”

Mom clears her throat, and they exchange a quick look before she goes back to pulling the skins off cloves of garlic. “Shay, the problems with the car are turning out . . . more expensive than we thought,” he says.

“Yeah?” I say, coming to sit at the table across from him. A sense of foreboding fills the room. I glance between him and Mom, who continues peeling with single-minded focus.

“We would like to ask if we can borrow a thousand dollars from your savings.” Dad looks so guilty I want to cry.