Her skills with food were not very French, though. It was clear that the whipped cream had come right from a tub in the freezer (and was, in fact, still in the shape of the upturned tub and glistening with ice crystals). The strawberries were raw and unevenly cut, instead of the warm, thick, stewlike version that made Scarlett’s heart flutter. The sugar was just a bowl of sugar—not powdered, and not vanilla.

“I guess you heard,” she said, giving Scarlett a birthday hug. “We did what we could. I hope it’s okay. And, hey—presents!”

There was no choice but to accept the situation gracefully, so Scarlett smiled and thanked everyone. Given the choice between burned and slightly undercooked, she went with the latter and was presented with a floppy, vaguely wafflelike object. Spencer took three charred ones. Lola settled for a spoonful of strawberries. Her dad tried to tough out a plate of whatever was left, but her mom just stirred her coffee nervously. The eating part of the breakfast—usually the longest and most festive—was wrapped up with considerable speed and a lot of untouched food.

“Present time!” her dad announced.

These birthday events were probably the most organized and ritualized things the Martins did. Gifts always followed the same pattern—siblings presented first, oldest to youngest. Then there was the presentation from their parents. This year, however, was special, and Scarlett knew exactly what they would be giving her.

Spencer produced a slightly bent-up envelope from somewhere behind him.

“I know what you like,” he said. “Happy birthday.”

Inside was a handwritten coupon for a piggyback ride around Central Park. Being seriously broke, he was not above giving the gift of manual labor. Also, he was the closest thing she had to a pony.

Lola came next. She passed forward a brown-and-white striped Henri Bendel box. That was where she worked, and therefore, very likely to be where the gift came from (as opposed to just being a really nice box with crap inside). Her parents and Spencer provided an appreciative chorus of oohs and ahhs. Inside, there were three very small objects, each wrapped in thick, strong paper that was hard to tear. The first object was a tiny bottle of some kind of blue liquid that Lola promised would “balance” her complexion, which was probably a good thing, even though she had no idea what that meant. The second was a mysterious white tube that was promised to bring further balancing. The third was a distinctive shape—a small rectangular box. A lipstick box.

“It’s Chanel,” Lola said, even though Scarlett could clearly read the word Chanel on the side. The lipstick it contained was a very dramatic shade of red. It looked like it may have been used once before. The tip was just very, very slightly flattened. Lola sometimes got samples. It was still a really good gift. Lola chose things very carefully, and even if Scarlett didn’t quite understand them, they were undoubtedly right.

“I think that’s a good shade for you,” Lola said. “You can handle strong color.”