Next week was my birthday! She was supposed to drive Nicole and me to the Santa Monica Pier. She was ruining my birthday! I hated her. I began to sob again. My father grasped one of my hands and Anna held my forehead steady the way she did whenever I was sick and needed to vomit. I wanted to tell them what I was thinking and feeling, but I was afraid if they knew about my mean, selfish thoughts they wouldn’t feel as sorry for me, so I just stayed there, crying, wedged between them.

The doorbell rang, a formal sound at the beach. Normally our guests walked right in, preceded only by the sound of our garden hose washing sand off their feet. Anna raised her brows at my father, who shrugged and shook his head. Had my mother returned? Why would she ring the bell? Anna released me to my father and went to open the door. Through my tangle of hair and tears, I made out the freckled face of Caroline Richards, a girl who lived a few doors away, and her nanny, Cappie, who was related to Vi. Caroline and I weren’t friends. We went to the same school but were in different classes. Everyone referred to Caroline’s father as “Richie Richards.” Nicole thought Caroline was stuck-up, but Nicole thought everyone who lived in the Colony was stuck-up except for me. I couldn’t imagine why she was here.

“Caroline and Cappie, PLEASED to see you!” Anna spoke so brightly it made my eyes squint.

“Mrs. Goldstein set up a playdate for the girls,” Cappie said, scanning the room and stepping her imposing frame into the doorway. “Caroline had the chance to go to a party, but she turned down the invitation because she had made a com-mit-ment,” Cappie said pointedly.

Caroline stared at her patent leather shoes, a sour expression on her face. She wore a sparkly red party dress, her strawberry-blonde hair pulled back with a velvet ribbon. She was clearly hoping not to find me home.

Anna swiveled to us with a silent plea for help.

“Um, hello.” My father waved, squirming.

Cappie fixed her eyes on me. “You sick?”

My reputation hung on how I handled this moment. It would be one thing if my mother had died, but no way was Caroline Espers going to school on Monday, telling everyone how I was crying because my crappy mother left. I wiped the snot off my nose with my shirtsleeve. Then, I wadded up all my rotten thoughts, my anger, sadness and hurt, and crammed them down so deep inside myself I would spend a lifetime stumbling accidentally upon them, like land mines.

I stood. “Hi, Caroline.” I whipped my mouth into a smile.

“Hi,” she said unenthusiastically.