“Oh, come on, Rachel. We aren’t that embarrassing.”

“Fine.”

He leaves us at the end of the driveway at least. We walk up to the house and knock on the door. A beautiful older woman greets us. “I’m Mrs. Lloyd, but you can call me Clarissa,” she says.

We introduce ourselves.

“Oh, Micah and Rachel. I’ve heard about you. Well, come on in. The kids are out back.” She leads us through the house to the backyard. The floors in the house are newly carpeted and smell like “new house.” The furniture looks like it all came from the same fancy catalog. It feels a lot like Micah’s house, only newer. Micah doesn’t seem to notice any of it, but I can’t stop looking and fall a little behind.

One side table is covered with photos of Sierra, from when she was a baby to now. There are at least twenty of them, all in different-size fancy frames. She must be an only child, because there aren’t pictures of anyone else. She’s also by herself in every picture, instead of with a parent or friend, which makes her seem a little lonely, even though she’s smiling in the photos. I wonder if she had friends at her old school, and feel glad that she already seems to have made so many here.

Micah comes back and grabs my arm. “Come on, slowpoke,” he says. He doesn’t even notice the photos.

The backyard has an in-ground pool in the middle of it, with a cement walkway all around and big lawn chairs spread out in various places. A bunch of people are already in the pool. When Sam and Sierra see us, they both wave. They’re wearing bikinis. I put my hand in front of the little stain on my shirt.

“Cute hair,” Sierra says when we walk to the edge of the pool. Instead of a clown nose, her pimple, which is a lot smaller, is now the center of a cute little flower.

“Thanks,” I say. “Cute flower.”

Sierra smirks. “I got smart and used permanent marker this time so it doesn’t turn into a horror flower.”

Sam rolls her eyes. “Could you do that to my hair?” she asks, crossing her arms at the side of the pool to hold herself up.

“My mom did it,” I say.

She looks disappointed.

“But I bet she’d do it for you. She loves doing hair.”

This is a lie. My mom would probably hate doing Sam’s hair. She doesn’t have time. And I don’t know why I said it.

No. That’s a lie, too. I know why I said it. To impress her. To make her like me as much as she likes Micah.

The doorbell rings in the distance, and Sierra’s mom disappears again.