“We’re supposed to be getting a bigger place sometime,” she said. “But we can’t afford it right now. Everything here is so insanely expensive! He didn’t want to move, and he doesn’t need to be here like I do. But my mom was obsessed with getting him into a school in Manhattan.”

“We’re lab partners now. He sits next to me.”

“Be careful,” Chelsea said. “He cheats.”

“That’s what he said. I thought he was kidding.”

“It’s true. He does. He’s really lazy, and he’ll try to get you to help him. Don’t let him take advantage. I’m not going to mind, trust me. I don’t even know why my mom dragged him to New York. He should have stayed at home.”

“Where is home?”

“Binghamton. A few hours away. Our house is there, and my dad.”

“Your parents are still married?” Scarlett asked. Scarlett had assumed that there was no Mr. Biggs, that Mrs. Biggs had divorced and taken her kids to the city. As soon as she said this, though, she realized that sounded kind of bad. But Chelsea just laughed.

“Oh yeah. My parents are just…they’re fine. I don’t think it matters to them if they see each other very often. I think my dad likes having the house all to himself. We live on a golf course. He manages the place. He can just golf whenever he wants now. That’s like his dream.”

Mrs. Biggs returned with a shopping bag and Max in tow. He looked absolutely appalled to see Scarlett in his living room. She would have warned him in advance, but he hadn’t shown for Bio that day, which had been a pleasant surprise. A totally Max-free day would have been better still, but life doesn’t give you everything you ask for.

“Scarlett’s here for dinner,” Mrs. Biggs said.

Max grunted what Scarlett assumed was some kind of insult and dropped his bag in the center of the room.

“Not there, Max!” his mom called. “Someone will trip!”

“Who?” he asked, kicking it aside.

“I’m just making chicken and vegetables,” she said, ignoring this remark and addressing Scarlett. “I don’t like…weird food. I don’t like spices and things.”

What Miranda Biggs didn’t like, it seemed, was flavor of any kind. She steamed some broccoli until it was anemic, piled some lettuce with no dressing, and plopped down a baked, dry chicken breast. This was served up at a tiny table really only made for two people. Max sat down at the table without bothering to remove the earbuds from his ears. Sound dribbled from his head.

“I have some low-fat salad dressing spray,” Mrs. Biggs said. “Max, turn that off!”