“I just need a little more time,” I tell him over the phone, throwing on some jeans and a tee, my ratty cap, and some makeup. “You owe me that.” And he grudgingly—as I knew he would—agrees.

Avoiding the cursed manila envelope, I tiptoe out the back entrance, get in my car and drive to my dad’s house.

I feel bad that I might be waking Lynda and Alison as I ring the bell. To be fair, it’s seven-thirty on a Thursday. Most normal people are up, right? But if my father’s up, why didn’t he ever call me back last night?

“Star,” he says with surprise as he opens the door. He’s in a gray flannel bathrobe tied over a faded black tee and red flannel plaid pants.

“Have you seen the news?” I ask immediately.

“What?” he says. “Oh yeah. About your boyfriend coming to find you and all.”

“He’s not really my boyfriend,” I protest, a bit mystified by his reaction. He doesn’t seem at all troubled that I’ve been exposed.

“Well, whatever you want to call him,” he says. “That famous guy, Jesse, you’re always going around with. Anyhow, yeah, so that was interesting. Good publicity for you, huh? Actually, I figured you’d be off with him somewhere today.”

I stare at him. He doesn’t seem to get how important this is. “Mom showed up last night, at my door,” I tell him.

This, he reacts to.

“What?” he demands, his whole face suddenly coming alive. “Your mother? What did she want?”

“I don’t know,” I say, not quite sure why I’m not telling him about her accusations about him. It just doesn’t feel right. Maybe I don’t want to think about it. “I guess she wants me to come home with her.”

“Well, honey, eventually you’re going to have to go back,” he says gently. I look at him in surprise.

“I thought you said I could maybe move in with you if we got a bigger house,” I say.

He shrugs. “Sure, sweetheart,” he says. “But you also have a career to worry about. We can’t just let that fall by the wayside.”

“No,” I say slowly. “I guess we can’t.”

“Anyhow, come in.” He steps aside. “Lynda’s taking Alison to school. Can I make you some coffee?”

“I don’t really feel like coffee right now,” I reply.

Ten minutes later, we’re sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, me with a glass of orange juice and a bowl of slightly stale Cheerios that I’m only pretending to eat out of politeness, and my dad with a mug of black coffee and a bagel.

“I need to ask you something,” I begin after watching Dad take three huge bites out of his bagel. He chews with his mouth open.