“We all start somewhere. And there, my sweets, is where you begin.”

The tops of the whitewashed buildings of Lankard Academy could be seen above the palm trees. A sweeping fence circled the vast campus, rising from perfectly manicured grass. Mercedes, Teslas, and Range Rovers formed a two-lane parade, jockeying to pull in to the entrance.

In the Lexus convertible beside them, a blond woman in a tennis visor shouted, despite the Bluetooth in her ear. In the back seat, three blond girls, all wearing the same uniform as Ava and Lily, stared into their iPhones.

“I swear to God, Debbie, I’m going to be late,” the woman yelled. “This school is going to have to hire traffic control. Just reserve court six. And listen, I’m just going to say, for the record, I don’t buy it. Not for a single second.”

Rolling his eyes, Quincy began to close up the sunroof, until the woman laughed irritatingly loud. “I mean, aliens? Come on. I mean, I have a few cleaning the pool today, don’t get me wrong!”

Quincy didn’t have to crane to hear her, but he did anyway. “I mean, yes, like we’ve talked about, it’s super weird all those missing people came back. But they weren’t taken by aliens, I don’t care what Marsha says or what the Washington Post reports. It’s just mainstream media trying to get clicks. It’s just crap.”

He couldn’t make out what the other trophy wife was saying, but Mrs. Blonde shook her head, her ponytail waving wildly. “And what’s so strange about wildfires? Although it did totally interrupt Mike and my wine country anniversary. So what if people were sick and fighting everywhere? It happens. It’s the world. I hate it for those people who died, but it happens.”

Quincy rolled down his window. “Hey lady,” he yelled.

She looked over, and he winked. “It’s all real.”

He punched the gas and swerved in front of her. She honked her horn twice.

“I’ll probably have homeroom with one of those girls,” Lily said. “We aren’t like these rich kids.”

“No, you’re richer. At least I’m richer, and so by default, you’re richer. And like we talked about, if anyone questions it, just tell your last name. It’s MARTIN. As in QUINCY MARTIN.”

Lily rolled her eyes. She’d adopted so many of his mannerisms.

I wish I could keep you home. Cover you in Lilly Pulitzer clothes. Find a way to fill your room with more toys, if that were possible. Be there every second some snobby girl asks who your parents really are. Or more importantly, be a voice for Ava when she refuses to talk.