“Santino just brought her home,” Mom whispers. She still isn’t out of shock, unlike Grandma.

“Santino?” Grandma wrinkles her nose. “How did he find you? Where were you?”

Dad walks inside, and I notice from the window that the police cars are leaving our street.

“Chiara and Santi?” I ask Dad.

“They’re on the way home. Their parents are waiting, who unlike us, knew their kids were going to a concert.” He shakes his head, and my chest clenches at the disappointment evident in his eyes.

“Concert?” Mom finally lets go of me, and her forehead crinkles.

For the first time in my life, as my parents and grandparents look at me in question, I feel scared in my own house. Scared that I’ve broken their trust.

“The concert at…Rendezvous,” I whisper.

It’s as if a switch flips, and Mom’s worried face turns scarlet. “You sneaked out?”

The room is so silent, you could hear a pin drop, until Grandpop pulls a chair out, the legs making a mild scratching sound.

“I… I’m so sorry, Mom.”

Grandma takes a step closer to me. “You went out at night with some boy?”

“It was Santino. Not some boy. He drove Chiara and me,” I reply with a touch of irritation.

“Don’t act all cheeky with me, girl. Your parents have given you too much freedom.”

“Mom, let’s sit and talk,” Dad says, and I feel a tiny bit relieved when he stands beside me, silently protecting me from Grandma’s fury.

“There’s nothing to talk about. Don’t you see, she sneaked out of her bedroom to watch random boys banging their heads to music. Tomorrow she’ll bring some junkie home. What will we do then?”

“This is ridiculous,” I mutter.

“What did you just say?”

“I’m sorry, Grandma, that I left you all worried. I should have told Mom and Dad. But I tried, and they didn’t agree.”

“Because we didn’t want you to go. It’s not safe.” Mom absently rubs her arm.

“There’s no place safer than Cherrywood, Mom.” Before she can interrupt me, I say the words I’ve been thinking for a long time. “I’m growing up and I want to do things girls my age do. Spread my wings a little. Make wrong decisions and learn from them. You’ll have to trust your parenting and know that I won’t make a mistake I’ll regret forever.”

Grandma is about to object when I add, “I’m going to go out with friends. You might not like everything, and I promise I won’t repeat what happened tonight, but I won’t promise not to… live.” My throat chokes, and Dad’s arm curls around my waist. I take his support and say the final words. “I’m going to go out on dates. I’m—”

“Not at all,” Grandma almost screams.