“Ooh, what’s in there?” Mom said, getting the salad bowl.

It was something big and rectangular. I peeled back the foil. “Looks like…lasagna.”

“Yum.”

“And there’s some kind of cake. Lemon cake!” I know the shape of Dad’s lemon cake because he always uses this one pan with ridges on top.

“Wow,” Mom said. “Cake and everything.”

I was unwinding the plastic bag from my foot when the doorbell rang. I hopped over. It was Lizette, holding a greasy paper bag.

“Aw, gross!” Lizette said, pointing. A little blood had soaked through the bandage. I hadn’t noticed. She leaned down and yanked off the last piece of plastic, still stuck to my leg with some tape. “I’m glad you’re okay, Bea.” Then she held out the bag. “Here’s what you missed. It was awful.”

I took the bag. Inside was a chunk of rock-hard French bread. I tried to bite it, but my teeth just slid off.

“Told you.” She did her cat smile. Lizette has two smiles, cat and clown. Cat smile is like she knows something, and clown smile is just goofy. Angus came up with the names. When I asked him what my smiles were called, he said I have too many different ones and he couldn’t keep track of them.

—

Mom invited Lizette to stay for dinner. We had a “working dance party,” which Mom invented. It’s when you do chores and dance at the same time. It can be for folding laundry or vacuuming or whatever you want. Mom cranked the radio and we unloaded the dishwasher, took turns with the salad spinner to dry the lettuce, and set the table. Mom kept doing hip bumps with us, which I was used to, but which made Lizette laugh until she was almost hysterical. Actual tears were coming down her face.

When the lasagna was hot, Mom turned the radio down and we sat at the table in the kitchen.

“I like dinner at your house,” Lizette said. She pointed her fork at her plate. “And this is so good.”

Mom smiled. “Thank you, Lizette.”

Neither of us said that Dad had made it.

—

While we waited in my room for her dad to pick her up, I told Lizette about Dad and Jesse getting married.

“Ooh, can I come to the wedding?” Lizette said.

I remembered what Jesse had said about who was invited: Everyone!

And I told Lizette, “Definitely.”

“Will your mom be there?” she asked.

“Of course,” I said.

“Oh, I just wondered. I mean—she was married to your dad before, right? It could be awkward.”

“My parents aren’t like that. They still love each other. In a way.” A different way.

“That’s cool, Bea. You’re lucky.”

“Yeah.”

“My brother has this friend? His parents got divorced, and they are so mean to each other.”