“I could give you some names of people who do that kind of work full time,” I add, once I realize the silence has stretched too long. There’s hardly anything in this room yet—a big California king with all-white linens and a large black-and-white framed photo from Lark and Cameron’s wedding leaning against the wall beside it. In it, Lark’s face is almost totally obscured, and Cameron is wearing a slouchy knit cap and wide black leather cuffs on both his wrists. On the beach! I feel newly committed to my decision to pass. How would I ever get through this job without hiding a message about how much I disapprove of Cameron’s wedding attire?

I would not, probably.

But then Lark says, “Oh,” and she sounds so genuinely disappointed. “Maybe I’ll skip it. I was kind of trying to avoid—” She breaks off, tucks her hands inside the front pocket of the hoodie she’s practically swimming in. “I’d rather have fewer people coming in and out of the house, I guess?”

I look over at her and she gives me a sheepish shrug.

“I get nervous about privacy stuff.”

“Oh, of course,” I say, as if I somehow know how it is to be a child star. I look back up at the wall, now feeling decidedly less committed about why I should pass. All through the mini-tour of this massive house, I couldn’t help but think, This castle is a prison! Except this time, it hadn’t seemed funny at all. When I first saw Lark in that movie years ago, the three-year age gap between Freddie and me seemed huge. She was a real teenager, not the kind of teenager I was—emerging and awkward, parties and proms and joyrides on a very distant horizon. But right now, with Lark standing beside me in this huge, sterile room, I feel like the older one, the real adult in the room.

Maybe I could do this part of the job, to help her out. I can ignore whatever she says about Cameron, keep my promise to myself, and give her what she’s asked for. And this will be good for me, too. Even aside from the money I stand to make, this will be a good challenge to set alongside the Make It Happyn job. A place to put all the excess inspiration I am absolutely still going to get out of my city walks.

I take a big breath, speak with all the cheery, casual confidence I’m still mustering about this.

“You know what? Why not, right? I like trying new things.”

She smiles at me, big and genuine. Then she says, “Cameron,” and I resist the urge to groan. “He’s always encouraging me to try new things.”