“Why don’t you ever post a photo without all the makeup on?”

“Did you ever post a photo of yourself without makeup on?”

I stared at her, annoyed by her keen understanding of things as well as her sassy tone. “You’re making this really difficult.”

“So ground me.”

I sat up straight. “I don’t want to just ground you, Whitney. I want to figure this out, so can you please drop the attitude? I realize you’re angry at your dad and probably at me, and I’m trying to figure out if this is an act of defiance on your part to get back at us, or if you’re just a girl who really likes Urban Decay, all right? Help me out here!”

“Sorry,” she said, but she rolled her eyes afterward.

I took a deep breath. “Look, I understand wanting to feel beautiful. What woman doesn’t? And I remember what it’s like to be thirteen and feel weird in your own skin. Add to that all the drama you’ve had to deal with over the last few months . . . I’d want to pretend to be another me too sometimes.”

She was silent for a moment. “Does that mean I can keep the account?”

I regarded my daughter, telling myself not to react out of fear but out of love and understanding. “As long as you are using these photos to express something about yourself and not”—I struggled for the right words—“not prove something to someone, or even to yourself, I suppose you can keep the account.”

She allowed me a tiny smile. “Thanks.”

“But I’m going to follow you.”

The smile disappeared and she rolled her eyes again.

“And you have to keep it private and never, ever answer anyone you don’t know who tries to message you. To monitor that, I’ll need your login.”

A scowl formed. “Maybe I don’t even want it anymore.”

“That’s fine too,” I said. “Now come here.”

Grudgingly, she came and sat next to me on the bed, and I put an arm around her. “You know I love you, and I want you to be happy and safe.”

She was silent.

“Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

She didn’t say anything right away.

And then.

“Is Henry your boyfriend now or something?”

I stiffened, but tried not to let her notice. “Of course not. We’re just friends. Why do you ask?”

She shrugged. “He’s around a lot since we’ve been back. I see you talking to him all the time.”

“Oh. Well, he’s been here for many years. You probably just never noticed.” I paused. “We’re getting to know each other better, that’s all. We’ve got a lot in common.”