“What’s even better,” Mrs. Amberson said, “is that he didn’t notice this. You covered so well!”

She reached into the waistband of her pants and pulled out a candy bar.

“I didn’t cover anything,” Scarlett said again, not bothering to lower her voice. “You almost got me arrested!”

Mrs. Amberson turned this time, but looked utterly unperturbed. She gazed at Scarlett through a thin veil of cigarette smoke.

“I would never have let that happen,” she said. “He was only bluffing. Wasn’t that fun?”

“I’m banned from the store! They think I’m a juvie tuna fish thief with a whole team of counselors and doctors!”

“You’ll never go to that store. It’s all the way across town. And they’ll never remember you, I promise. They just say that.”

“That is not the point!”

“You seem upset,” Mrs. Amberson said mildly. “You’re just full of adrenaline right now, and you’re using that adrenaline as panic. Performers constantly go through this, and we turn our head rush into performance. We use it. We enjoy it. Now breathe through your nose and out of your mouth, a nice cleansing flow of air. The store got money to cover what was taken. You didn’t get into any trouble. A very worthy organization got a hundred dollars to buy food for hungry people. Enjoy the moment!”

She was using a cooing, lulling voice that Scarlett felt was probably copied from one of her yoga instructors. Scarlett reached over and slid open the panel.

“Pull over,” she said to the driver.

“Oh, come on, Scarlett. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Adventure is white-water rafting. This…” She held up the can. “…is tuna.”

“That was very well phrased. You have a touch of the actress about you, too, you know.”

The cab stopped, and Scarlett opened the door and got out.

“You did very well!” Mrs. Amberson called to her as she walked off. “You pass! I think this is going to work out splendidly!”

Scarlett had no idea what that meant, and she didn’t care.

DEAL OF A LIFETIME

It took Scarlett the entire walk home to calm down—and it was a long, hot walk. When she arrived at the Hopewell, she pushed right on through the empty lobby, through the dining room, into the kitchen.

The Hopewell kitchen was embarrassingly large for a family that couldn’t cook and had no guests to feed. Most of the appliances were from the sixties and seventies, and there were way too many of them. Only about half of the stuff worked. Belinda could make the place behave somehow, but no one else could.

There was something else in the kitchen that refused to behave. Namely, her parents, who quickly moved away from each other and did some quick hair and clothes adjusting. Scarlett knew what that meant. She had walked in on them canoodling. Again. It was kind of nice to have parents who liked each other—she was one of the only people she knew who did. Still, every one of the Martin siblings had caught them making out. There was, after all, a good reason why there were four of them.