“Get up, the man’s here!” she hissed at Mira, who was flat on the sofa, gazing up at the fan like a vegetable. “I have stuff to do for school, or I would do this myself.”

“I’m too hot to move,” Mira moaned. “I’m completely stuck to the leather. If I move, it’ll tear my skin off in one piece, I swear.”

“Get up, freak, he’s at our door now.”

“You know that if I do this, I’m, like, aiding and abetting in our forced removal to Korea, right? Besides, I’m on my period. Cut me some slack.”

The doorbell sang its tinny, electronic Godfather theme. As Mrs. Park’s slippered feet shuffled through the house, she glared at her daughters in the living room, neither of whom had budged an inch. Rosemary pointed at Mira: “She said she’d do it.”

“Thanks for nothin’, sister.”

Mrs. Park pulled her hair back into a severe ponytail and opened the door with the neutral, apprehensive smile she reserved for workmen and delivery people.

“Good morning, you must be Mrs. Park.” The PestBusters rep was a laconic middle-aged guy in a denim shirt and faded jeans. He had a ponytail too, longer than Mrs. Park’s. “My name’s Dave Keller. We spoke on the phone about the termite inspection.”

“Yes. Please come in.” Mrs. Park waved him in. She stared at Mira to come to her side. “My daughter, Mira. You tell everything to her.”

Mira harrumphed to the doorway and shook Dave Keller’s hand.

“Should I take off my shoes?”

“Nah, it’s OK.” Mira looked at her mother, who nodded.

“Thanks. You wouldn’t have liked the smell of my socks.” He followed Mira into the house. Mrs. Park shuffled along after them. “When was your last inspection?”

“Never,” said Mira. “The house is crawling with all kinds of creatures.”

“Nice.”

Rosemary went to the stereo and set “Strange Fruit” on repeat. She turned the music up to cover the sounds of Mira leading the termite man around and Mrs. Park padding like a dog after them in her terrycloth slippers. Then she lay down on the sofa and closed her eyes. Oh, what she’d give for an iPod.

The termite guy disappeared up the black hole leading into the attic. When they failed to hear his footsteps overhead for a couple of minutes, Mrs. Park tapped Mira on the shoulder and pointed up there. She mimed drinking.

“Be patient, Ma. Let him do his job.”

Mrs. Park tapped on her shoulder harder, insistent. Mira scowled at her mother, and took a couple of steps up the creaky ladder.

“Excuse me, sir? Are you all right up there? My mother doesn’t want you hurting yourself on her property because she’s paranoid about getting sued.”

The termite man’s head popped out of the hole, and both women gasped.