“I am not!” If she said it frequently enough, maybe she’d convince herself.

“Only ten years old,” Phoebe muttered to herself. “The brightest and best-behaved student at the boarding school. Then, out of nowhere, you hack off your bangs and plant a stink bomb in the dining hall.”

“Nothing more than a gifted child’s chemistry experiment.”

“Thirteen years old. Quiet. Studious. Not a single misstep since the stink-bomb incident. Until you started combing grape Jell-O powder through your hair. Then presto change-o! You pack up Bert’s college trophies, call a garbage company, and have them hauled away.”

“You liked that one when I told you about it. Admit it.”

But Phoebe was on a roll, and she wasn’t admitting anything. “Four years go by. Four years of model behavior and high scholastic achievement. Dan and I have taken you into our home, into our hearts. You’re a senior, on your way to being valedictorian. You have a stable home, people who love you … You’re vice-president of the Student Council, so why should I worry when you put blue and orange stripes in your hair?”

“They were the school colors,” Molly said weakly.

“I get the call from the police telling me that my sister—my studious, brainy, Citizen of the Month sister!—deliberately set off a fire alarm during fifth-period lunch! No more little mischief for our Molly! Oh, no … She’s gone straight to a class-two felony!”

It had been the most miserable thing Molly had ever done. She’d betrayed the people who loved her, and even after a year of court supervision and many hours of community service, she hadn’t been able to explain why. That understanding had come later, during her sophomore year at Northwestern.

It had been in the spring, right before finals. Molly had found herself restless and unable to concentrate. Instead of studying, she read stacks of romance novels, drew, or stared at her hair in the mirror and yearned for something pre-Raphaelite. Even using up her allowance on hair extensions hadn’t made the restlessness go away. Then one day she’d walked out of the college bookstore and discovered a calculator that she hadn’t paid for tucked in her purse.

Wiser than she’d been in high school, she’d rushed back inside to return it and headed for Northwestern’s counseling office.

Phoebe interrupted Molly’s thoughts by jumping to her feet. “And the last time …”

Molly winced, even though she’d known this was where Phoebe would end up.

“… the last time you did something this drastic to your hair—that awful crew cut two years ago …”

“It was trendy, not awful.”

Phoebe set her teeth. “The last time you did something this drastic, you gave away fifteen million dollars!”

“Yes, well … Getting the crew cut was purely coincidental.”

“Ha!”

For the fifteen millionth time, Molly explained why she’d done it. “Bert’s money was strangling me. I needed to make a final break from the past so I could be my own person.”

“A poor person!”