If we offered to take Zoe to the carousel, my parents would be so happy they didn’t have to schlep across the park themselves, they’d give us money for rides and ice cream and send us on our way, no questions asked. Or at least that was Jeanine’s theory, and it sounded pretty solid to me.

Our real mission? To find someone who worked at El Mariachi when Mom did, someone who might be able to give us a clue about how Chef JJ really felt about her.

Jeanine had checked the restaurant’s website, and El Mariachi would be open for a special Fourth of July dinner that evening. So we’d go to the carousel—we’d have to or Zoe would pitch an epic fit—then head over to El Mariachi, which was only a short walk from there.

I barely slept the night before. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d done. I’d gone twelve years without cheating. And now that I had, I worried it was like gambling or something—like now that I’d done it, it would be hard to stop.

Did cheating once make you a cheater forever?

When morning finally came, I couldn’t get out of bed fast enough.

As Jeanine predicted, my parents flipped over our offer to take Zoe to the carousel. We’d all go to breakfast together at Barney’s. Then we’d head to Central Park, and my parents would head to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to enjoy world-class art in world-class air-conditioning.

It wasn’t until after breakfast when we were back in the Petersmobile grabbing water bottles that we hit a snag.

“Here.” Mom handed me a tube of sunscreen.

“You just saw me put it on,” I said.

“You’re going to be out all day. You’ll need to reapply.”

“Fine.” There was no way I was going to put more of this glop on, but I put it in the backpack I was using for water bottles and snacks anyway.

“And you should all wear hats,” Dad said. “Seriously, this sun is no joke.”

“Henry doesn’t like hats. They hurt his ears.” Zoe stood up from her bed, a sheet tied around her like a sling, a squirming lump hanging across her chest. “We’re ready.”

“Zo, you can’t take Henry,” Mom said.

“But he’s never ridden the carousel.”

“You’re not going to be able to carry him around like that all day,” Dad said.

“I can. Watch.” Zoe marched from the back of the Airstream up to the driver’s seat. “See!” She spun around, and Henry dropped to the floor.

“There’s just no way, sweetie. I’m sorry.” Mom tried to put sunscreen on Zoe’s cheeks, but she pulled away.

“But I promised!” All the white spaces between Zoe’s freckles were going red. This was headed nowhere good fast.

“It’s okay,” I said. “We can take him.”

“See,” Zoe said.

“How?” Mom asked.

I had no idea how.

Dad picked up Henry. “He’s small, but there’s no way Zoe can carry him around all day.”