FOR THE NEXT COUPLE OF WEEKS, I stretched every night and slept surprisingly well. And when I woke up in the mornings feeling less like a zombie, I also felt less like I wanted to kill everyone. Which was a nice side effect.

I still needed my weekend sleep-in time, though. Which was why, when I woke up to a constant buzzing noise at 7:30 on a Saturday morning, a bit of the old murderous rage crept back in. I snatched in the general direction of my phone, knocking it off the nightstand. I pawed the carpet until I found it.

Margot.

abuela visiting. taking me shopping for Winter Formal dress. couldn’t say no. help??

whayrt? My fingers weren’t very coordinated this early in the morning.

can you distract her? meet at capital mall Macy’s now please? please now?

I closed my eyes again, not wanting to move, let alone go to the mall. It was a week into December and, as Margot put it yesterday, “cold as frostbitten balls outside.” My phone rang. I pressed the answer button to shut it up. “What?”

“PLEASE??” Margot yelled.

I yanked the phone a few inches away from my ear. “Is Macy’s even open now?” I croaked out.

“They have special hours for the holidays. Come on,” Margot said insistently. Then she started singing “Jingle Bells” with her own made-up lyrics. “Come to Macy’s. Come to Macy’s. Save me from Abuela!”

I made a sound between a groan and a laugh. “Fine. Hanging up now.” I rolled out of bed and put on my fleece-lined leggings, boots, and the chunky mustard-yellow sweater that was my grandma Shiho’s in the sixties, when she lived in New York. After she moved to Hawai‘i with Grandpa Kenny, she packed all her sweaters into boxes, figuring her future kids or grandkids might like them one day. And she was right—as soon as it dropped below forty degrees, Josie and I always broke out the Grandma sweaters.

When I went downstairs, Mom froze on the couch, her pen poised above the essay she was grading. “Am I dreaming? Or are you actually up before noon?”

“I’m meeting Margot at the mall. Can I take the car?”

Mom smiled. “Ooo, what are you going to get?”

If I told her Margot was looking for a Winter Formal dress, she’d think I was looking for one, too, and get way too excited. “Nothing. Margot’s abuela wanted to take her shopping, and I’m meeting them there.”

Mom smiled even wider, probably imagining Margot and me trying on a bunch of wacky outfits while dancing to a pop song, like in a movie montage.

“So can I take the car?”

“Sure,” Mom said, turning back to the essay. “But you’ll have to pick Josie up from dance at eleven thirty.”

I paused as I reached into Mom’s purse for the keys. “Can Dad do it?”