“Bullshit. That innocent ponytail and those killer reporter instincts are a dangerous combination.” She dusted off her palms and set her plate on the coffee table. “Come on. I know you’ve got something sneaky behind that ‘who, me?’ expression.” Kendra stretched her foot across and nudged my knee. “Spill it, you witch.”

It was a challenge, same as that night at the football game when she asked whether I was willing to help out. Are you one of us? she seemed to be saying.

“Okay, well, since we were talking about moms having to do everything and wanting what’s best for our kids...” I drew a deep breath. There were multiple things I could tell her that might be shocking. I decided I could let one slip for a good cause. “I’m the reason we landed here.”

Kendra had that tiger look on her face now. I thought back to the night I’d seen them all through the window, talking, laughing. Back to driving through these neighborhoods as a grad student, visiting my professors’ beautiful houses, meeting their beautiful families. And even before that, tagging along with my mother to the expensive houses she cleaned, seeing how the other half lived. Like that first time Adam and Lily and I toured Woodard High School, how big it was, all the offerings. Smart kids, good grades, an excellent rating. So much opportunity—for Lily, for Adam, for me.

My mother had been harsh at times, hovering over me. Making sure my hair was combed, my homework was done, my friends were respectable. She’d taught me to strive for something more, always dream big. To believe I deserved it.

All those years, I’d wanted in.

When you think about something so much, you need it even more.

And you’ll do even more to get it.

“I really wanted Adam to get this job. Like, really.” Another sip. Liquid courage. “So I called in a favor. I asked Greg Hendricks to put in a good word for him.”

“Whoa.” Kendra whistled low. She was leaning forward, her elbows on her knees.

This was the exact type of secret she’d craved.

“That’s quite the favor,” she added. “Miles Hendricks is no pushover. Greg must be a very good friend.”

My cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. I knew what she was hinting at, but there was no way I was going there. “It’s not like that,” I said.

But it was. It was exactly like that.

The images came before I could stop them. Professor Greg Hendricks with the sparkling eyes, stacking his papers, shoving them in his briefcase. Theresa, can you stay after class for a minute?

Then, outside, slipping between two buildings. His face, so close. My back pressed against concrete and bricks. His kiss, soft, then firm, my heartbeat responding before my brain could even register what had happened. Dinners three towns away. Secret meeting spots after dark. Sheets tangled between legs.