Freda took a sip, put her feet up, and tossed me a grin. “Now, this is what life is about,” she declared. “I mean, what the hell are we ever going to use algebra for? And who cares if we know who the thirty-ninth president is? I can’t wait to start working full-time and really live.”

Connor hooked his foot over his knee and nodded. “Yeah, you can learn more about the world by actually reading books on your own and talking to people. Politics is shit. The environment is killing us. People are greedy assholes. Might as well find some pleasure in your own way.”

David tapped his fingers on the edge of the couch, drinking in silence. I turned my gaze to him automatically, wondering why he kind of fascinated me. He seemed to have some deep thoughts but he didn’t throw them out there like Freda and Connor.

“Allegra, what do you want to do when you’re sprung from prison? Join the country club? Have a bunch of babies and marry a rich guy?” Freda asked.

I shrugged, not taking offense at her question. It kind of made sense. They saw me as different from them and they still hadn’t figured me out. Neither had I. “I don’t know. My mom is really strict about my grades. Always pushing college and career goals, like if I end up falling in love and wanting babies before I’m twenty-two, she’d lose her shit and think I’m a loser. Why can’t I make my own decisions about what I want?”

Freda rolled her eyes. “I get it. They want you to be exactly like them—some sort of mini robot—but not do any of the bad stuff they used to when they were younger. They want you to live the lives they never got to.”

I jerked back. I’d never thought about it, but it was a smart observation. My mom used to tell me she dreamed of giving me opportunities she never had, but if she was never around to do anything with me, then who cares? She hadn’t even had time to fall in love and get married. She was actually proud of me not having a real dad. Being born by artificial insemination—via some random dude from a damn catalogue—sucked. It was humiliating and weird, and she’d taken away my right to have a father—or at least grieve not having a father who’s around.

“Is that how your mom is?” I asked Freda, taking a drag on the cigarette. My throat burned but I was beginning to like it.

“Yep. She used to be some big deal at a bank. Talked about Wall Street and stuff, but quit to have kids. Now she’s miserable and wants me to be this financial wiz.” Freda shook her head and laughed. “She’s cray-cray.”