Which led me to Rule #2: Never look like you’ve counted your chickens. So before I packed anything, I asked my dad for permission. He was on the phone, but he nodded distractedly at me. “I can stay the night at Teri’s?” I asked slowly and loudly, to make sure he’d remember. The last thing you wanted was to get in trouble because your parents weren’t paying attention to your alibi if you were going to the trouble to set one up.

But saying that also allowed me to hew close to Rule #3: Stick to things that are technically the truth. I was going to be staying the night at Teri’s. I was just going to be doing a lot of other stuff before then, but since he hadn’t asked me for specifics, that was on him.

So when I came downstairs with my duffel packed with what I’d need for a night in the city and then a sleepover—my favorite dress, a pair of ankle boots, my makeup bag and magic curling iron, sweatpants and a show shirt (Anything Goes) to wear as pajamas, and an extra sweater to wear on Saturday—it was knowing I’d done my due diligence, dotted my i’s and crossed my t’s.

I stepped into the kitchen and saw, to my surprise, that my mother was there. My mom worked in finance, at a hedge fund in Putnam, one town over. She was with a company named Blackpool, which sounded interesting, and like something out of a fantasy novel, but was actually just an office filled with people in zip-up sweaters moving money around. But she usually wasn’t home until at least seven, and it was now only a little after three—this was very early for her. I wondered if maybe the FBI had raided the offices again, and that was why she was here. She and my dad were standing around the kitchen island, having what sounded like a kind of intense discussion, while Grady sat at the kitchen table with his book, seemingly oblivious to all of it.

“We didn’t RSVP yes, right?” my dad asked. “We said we’d try.”

“I know,” my mother said with a sigh as she ran her hand through her hair. “But then I got an email from Sarah this afternoon saying she was looking forward to seeing us tonight.”

“What’s tonight?” I asked as I walked through the kitchen, heading for the fridge. “Also, Mom, why are you here?”

“That’s nice,” my mother said, shaking her head at me even though she was smiling.

“I just meant it’s early.”

“I had an off-site with a client and they cancelled last-minute, so I just came home. You dad and I need to figure out this invitation.”

“To what?” I asked as I pulled open the fridge.