She had the same stubborn, frizzy hair as Helen and Emma, though she’d been hiding it under straighteners for years now. Today, she wore her hair up. A layer of powder covered her pale skin, and sleek black lines ran along her eyelashes before ticking upward from the outer corners. She looked older and more mature than seventeen. That was partly due to her clothing. Even in elementary school, Sara had longed for the day when she could finally stop shopping in the kids’ section. She had expensive taste: ever since she had started receiving her clothing allowance, she had preferred secondhand designer clothes to new outfits from H&M. Werner called her “our little lady of leisure,” in a tone that suggested he didn’t consider it a bad thing.

“Did you have fun with Jackie in Antwerp?” asked Helen.

“I guess.” Sara took a glass out of the cupboard and poured herself some Coke. She remained standing next to the kitchen island. “Mom, Dad? Could you go out next Saturday night?”

“Go out?” Werner leaned his elbow on the back of the leather dining chair. “Why?”

“It’s my turn to host movie night.”

“That’s a little inconvenient,” said Werner. “Thom is turning sixteen on Friday, and I think two parties in one weekend would be too much of a good thing.”

“But that’s perfect, isn’t it? We can use up the leftovers from Thom’s party. You always buy too much.” She looked brightly at her mother. “And then you two can go and do something fun on Saturday.”

“We’ll see,” said Helen.

“Aw, please? I already talked to Emma. She’s going to stay at Linde’s on Saturday.”

“And I’m going to Yorick’s,” said Thom as he entered the kitchen. He opened the fridge and studied the contents intensely, as if his life depended on it, before finally selecting a bottle of Fanta and wandering back to the living room.

“Let me sleep on it,” said Helen.

“Aw . . .”

“Sorry. Your father and I have a lot on our plates at the moment.”

Sara rolled her eyes and sighed. “Work, admin . . .”

“Less of that, young lady,” Helen heard Werner say. “And isn’t there something you should be telling us?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Maybe something about what you did in Antwerp—or rather, what you had done?”

“Oh, you mean that.”

“Yes, that,” said Werner sardonically.

“Well, we didn’t go through with it. The guy was ridiculously expensive, and he’s booked for the next two months. Jackie wanted to try somewhere else, but it was some dirty biker with a beer belly. So gross.”

“I bet he was a lot cheaper,” remarked Werner in a considerably more cheerful tone.

“I’m not an idiot, Dad. I want it to be a nice one.”