Mom, Tiffany, Manning and I were all seated in the dining room by the time Dad came out of his study. “Why are we eating in here instead of the kitchen?” he asked before he’d even pulled out his chair.

“Because we have company,” Mom said.

Manning looked surprisingly relaxed in his chair, his plate served, food untouched like all of ours. He watched my Dad.

“Daddy, this is Manning,” Tiffany said.

They locked eyes finally, holding each other’s gazes, a silent conversation passing between them.

“Thank you for having me,” Manning said.

“I’m not having you,” Dad replied, scooting his chair into the table. “My wife is. Thank her.”

“He already did,” Mom said softly but firmly. “You’re being rude, Charles.”

He glanced at her and then Tiffany before picking up a serving bowl of broccoli. “Did you cook tonight, Lake?”

Even though everyone had started eating, my fingers were laced tightly in my lap. I was the tensest of everyone, and this didn’t even involve me. I wanted it to go well for Manning. I didn’t need to give him a reason to stop coming around. I wasn’t sure what was developing between us, but if we couldn’t find out until I turned eighteen, then he needed to stay in my life two more years. “I helped with the steak and dessert,” I said.

“Good,” Dad said. “I like when you cook.”

“I was just asking Manning about home,” Mom said. “He’s from Los Angeles.”

“Pasadena, specifically,” Manning said.

“Aside from my time at USC, never been a big fan of L.A.” Dad cut into his meat. “Too diverse. Even the neighborhood the campus is in is dangerous. Too much crime.”

“Jesus, Charles.” Mom said. “I’ve told you before, you can’t say those things.”

“The hell I can’t. This is my home.”

“Daddy, please,” Tiffany said.

My dad made comments like that sometimes, but never in front of company, mostly because it upset my mom. It was the first I’d heard Tiffany speak up against it.

Mom turned to Manning. “He doesn’t mean anything by that. I’m sure you come from a lovely home.”

Manning chewed and swallowed. “It was all right.” He glanced away as he said it. “Nothing like this.”

“This,” Dad said, gesturing around with his fork, “is the result of a lot of hard work and investment in education. Do you go to school?”

“Yes, sir. At night.”

“For?”

Manning had a mouthful of steak, so the table sat quietly as he chewed and then sipped his water. “I’m going into law enforcement.”

“A cop?”

“Yes.”

“And after that? Want to be a lawyer?”

“No. I want to help people.”

“If you want to help, go to the top,” Dad said. “Officers don’t have any clout. They just do what they’re told.”

Mom cleared her throat. “Charles—”

“What?” he asked. “What now? These kids need a dose of reality. I’m just trying to be helpful.”

I’d figured this would happen, that my dad would try to make Manning feel small. Knowing how much Manning’s future career meant to him, I opened my mouth to interject.

“Cops do help people,” Manning said before I could speak. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

Dad shrugged. “Good, then. Do that. The world needs policemen.”

“More than it needs lawyers,” Mom added.

Manning turned to me, maybe looking for an out. “Did you make the salad, too?”

I hadn’t even told him. I smiled. “Yes.”

“You should try it then,” he said, nodding at my full plate.

I’d been so wrapped up in a conversation that didn’t involve me, I’d barely touched my food. I took a bite of a fresh, crisp tomato, and juice dribbled down my chin.

“Where are you on the reading list, Lake?” Dad asked.

I dabbed my mouth with a napkin. “The last book.”

“Perfect. I’ve just picked up some more I think you’ll love, including a non-fiction about perfecting the college essay.”

“Maybe it’s time for a break,” Mom said. “Summer vacation’s almost over.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Tiffany chimed in.

“Don’t be fooled. USC looks as closely at summer vacation as they do the school year. They don’t accept slacking off.”

I’d heard the same speech every year since I’d entered middle school. Once it was clear Tiffany didn’t have a shot at USC, my parents had turned all their attention on me. “I know.”

“You want to go to USC?” Manning asked.

“University of Southern California,” Dad said.

“I’ve heard of it.” Manning was beginning to look irritated. “Private university in L.A., rival of UCLA.”

“We’re hoping to get her started in a pre-college program next year,” Mom said.

“Already?” Manning asked.

Mom nodded. “These things start early. Years before college applications. And Lake wants this, so we’ll do whatever we can to get her there.”

Manning shifted his eyes to me. “Why USC?”

“It’s where I went,” Dad said.

I sensed by the fact that Manning ignored him that he was looking for an answer from me. Throughout my childhood, I remembered my dad happiest when relaying his years at USC, as if it were some kind of adult Disneyland. I hadn’t ever considered anywhere else. One of the best schools in the country was practically in our backyard.

“USC has all kinds of great programs,” I said.

Dad nodded, picking up his wine glass. “It’s a top-tier school.”

I smiled at Dad. I never felt closer to him than when we were on this subject. “They have a football team, a beautiful campus, and a great reputation.” I wanted to make my dad proud. To call myself a Trojan with the same pride he did. “And, yes, my dad’s an alumnus. I can’t really think of a reason not to go there.”

I looked back at Manning, and my world slowed. He wasn’t listening. He watched Tiffany push food around her plate.

“Did you ever think about USC?” Manning asked her. She didn’t even realize he was talking to her. “Tiff?”

“What?” She looked up and blinked. “Did I want to go there? Me?”

“Why not?”

“It takes hard work, dedication, and planning to get in to a top university,” Dad said. “Tiffany spent her time in school doing God knows what, but it wasn’t any of those.”

“I knew a kid who started at community college and transferred to Berkeley,” Manning said. “Tiffany could do that if she wanted.”

“That’s what Charles did,” Mom said, raising her glass to Dad. “He couldn’t afford private but he worked his way up through community college.”

Tiffany crossed her arms, sitting back in her chair. “Believe me, I don’t want to go to that dumb school. It’s like a fucking cult.”

Dad pointed his fork at her. “Watch your language. You’d be lucky to be at that school rather than wasting your time here watching TV and spending my money.”

“That’s not what I do all day.” She glanced nervously at Manning. “I’m looking at schools. I just don’t know where I want to go or what to major in yet.”

“Business,” Dad said. “Can’t go wrong with that. Once you get your degree, maybe you could manage a clothing store. Since you love to shop.”

She straightened her shoulders. “Maybe I’ll open my own clothing store.”

“Run your own business? Do you have any idea what that takes? Discipline. Hard work. Start-up capital. That’s just the basics.”

I could see where this conversation was going, and even though I didn’t always agree with my sister, I didn’t want to see her embarrassed. “How about a fashion designer?” I suggested. Managing people wouldn’t be good for her. She was more creative than us and did better without confines or rules. That was how I’d heard Mom defend her to my dad, anyway. “You’d be good at that.”

She ignored me. “You act like my life is over just because I don’t know what I want to do,” she said to Dad. “I could be a lot worse off right now, you know. I ran into Regina Lee at the mall today.”

He frowned. “Who?”

“That girl in my class who got pregnant.”

I remembered the name. The story of her relationship with a math teacher had been all over the news. Things like that didn’t happen at our school. It was when I’d learned the term statutory rape.

“The worst I did in high school was get bad grades and maybe have a little too much fun,” Tiffany said. “Regina has a baby. She was crying to me about how she’s raising it alone.”

“What’d she think was going to happen?” Dad asked. “She’d ride off into the sunset with a pedophile? How much time did he get? Three years?”

“I think so,” Mom said. “Statutory rape.”

“Goddamn ridiculous. They went too easy on him. I would’ve charged him with real rape.”

“They were in love,” Tiffany said.

“I don’t care.” Dad stabbed a piece of steak with his fork. “I have plenty of friends in the legal system. If that’d been Tiffany, that scumbag’d be away so long, he’d come back a different person.”

“Oh, my,” Mom said, glancing at Manning. “How’d we get on this subject?” She refilled Dad’s wine glass. She knew when and how to steer the conversation, especially when Dad and Tiffany were at each other’s throats. “You know, Lake’s off to camp soon. Are you looking forward to it, honey?”

I was about to say yes. As a kid, I’d had fun, but I’d enjoyed last year even more as a junior counselor. Young Cubs was a week-long sleepaway camp in the woods with outdoor activities and nightly campfires. But a new thought occurred to me. What would happen with Manning when summer ended? I wouldn’t be able to find him at the lot during the day. It wasn’t as if I could get in a car and go see him, and that wasn’t just because I didn’t have my license. Summer ended in just over four weeks. If I spent one of those away at camp, that only left me three with Manning. “Do I have to go?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” Mom asked. “You had a great time last year.”

“But yes, you have to,” Dad said. “It looks good on your application.”

Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Does everything have to be about college?”

Dad looked at her, then Mom. “Your daughter has more attitude than an entire sorority house.” He chuckled.

Tiffany scoffed, but she was smiling. “And whose fault is that?” she asked. “It’s genetics.”

Dad, finishing his second glass of wine, muttered, “Attitude is not genetic. There—put that on a sticker and slap it on your bumper.” Everyone but Manning laughed. Tiffany had stickers plastered on her school supplies, her desk, her walls, and even a couple on her car. They ranged from a pink, glittery one that read “Warning: I Have an Attitude and I Know How to Use it” to a black, round one with a red “A” scratched in the center. I’d asked why she had an anarchy sticker, and she’d given me a funny look and told me it was “punk, duh.” Dad said it was to piss him off.

Manning had already cleared his plate and was going for seconds. “What’s this camp thing about?”

“It’s in Big Bear,” I said.

He nodded his approval. “Love it up there.”

“It’s for kids,” Tiffany added. “I would die of boredom.”

“I’ll be a junior counselor,” I said, “which means I’m going to be paired with an adult counselor and we’ll be in charge of a cabin for the week. We sleep there at night and do activities during the day.”

“Like what?” Manning asked.

Everybody waited. For once, nobody was talking over me. I sat up a little. “All kinds of stuff. Archery, horseback riding, canoeing, arts and crafts, fishing. We spend practically the whole week outdoors.”

Manning listened with his whole body, his eyebrows drawn. It almost looked as if he wanted to go to camp himself. “I haven’t been fishing since I was a kid. You get paid for this?”

“I volunteer. It’s just for my college apps. But the real counselors get paid.”

“Are you interested?” Mom asked him.

Manning pulled back. “Am I?”

“Do you honestly think he wants to spend a week of his summer with a bunch of children?” Tiffany asked.

“Believe it or not,” Manning said, “I like kids.”

My heart nearly burst out of my chest at the idea of it. Manning. At camp. For a whole week. With me.

“What about your job?” Tiffany asked uneasily. She must’ve been thinking the same thing, except that she’d be spending a week away from him.

“We’re breaking soon for a few weeks while we wait on some permits,” Manning said. “I don’t have anything solid lined up. I’m actually looking for work.”

“What do you do?” Mom asked.

Manning stopped chewing at the same moment it occurred to me—Dad still didn’t know the truth about how we’d met Manning. I looked to Tiffany for help, but as the realization hit her, too, her eyes sparkled.

Manning set down his fork. “I didn’t realize Tiffany hadn’t told you.”

That got Dad’s attention. He looked up. “Told us what?”

“I work construction right now. To put myself through school.” He nodded behind Dad, toward the backyard. “I’m on the crew at that house next door.”

“Excuse me?” Dad asked, looking at Tiffany. “What’s he talking about?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mention it, Daddy.” She looked contrite. “I didn’t want you to get mad.”

“I told you to stay away from there.” Dad’s voice rose. “What is the matter with you, Tiffany? Anything I tell you, you do the opposite.”

“Charles.” Mom touched his arm. “Stop.”

He turned on her. “Did I not say this would be a problem? That transients in the neighborhood is never good?”

“What’s a transient?” I asked.

“Someone who can’t hold a job because they’re not skilled enough to find work.”

My mouth fell open. I’d known it was coming, some terrible insult meant to drive Manning away. So had Tiffany, yet she’d invited him over anyway.

Manning took his napkin from his lap and stood. “I should go. I honestly didn’t realize this was an issue.”

“No.” My mom’s voice cut like a knife through the tension. “Sit down, Manning. You’re a guest in our home, and you’ve been nothing but polite.”

Manning slowly lowered himself back into his chair.

“Polite?” Dad asked. “He didn’t have the decency to mention he worked next door. It should’ve been the first thing he said when he came in.”

“I agree,” Manning said evenly. “I thought you knew.”

“You have to excuse my husband,” Mom said. “Charlie’s been so upset about the construction.”

“I understand.” Manning shifted in his seat. “We try to keep it to a minimum outside work hours. We start early when it’s cool, but we rarely go past five in the afternoon.”

“That’s a lie,” Dad said. “I’ve heard you during dinner.”

Tiffany played with her hair, and the daisy fell out. She tried forcing it back in.

“There’s construction on the house behind yours, too,” Manning said. “Maybe it’s that.”

“This is a safe neighborhood.” Dad looked between us and him. “We don’t like trouble.”

Worried Manning might get up and try to leave again, I interjected. “There’s no trouble. I’ve been over there.”

Dad turned his head. “When?”

“Last week,” Tiffany answered. She gave up on the daisy and put it on the table. “It wasn’t a big deal. I was with her.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Dad asked. “I’ve repeatedly asked you not to bring your sister into your drama.”

“I didn’t.” She balked. “She went over there first.”

“Last week,” Dad spoke over her, “Lake was in summer school. She should’ve been doing her reading, not—”

“Tiffany’s right,” I said. It was stupid of me to say I’d been there knowing how Dad would react. Quickly, I tried to come up with an excuse. “He didn’t have a lunch, so I—”

“Don’t interrupt me, goddamn it.”

Manning sat forward. “With all due respect, sir—”

“Do you have daughters?” Dad asked him. “Are you responsible for a family? For keeping them safe?”

Manning held his stare, something dark passing over his face. “No.”

“Then stay out of this. That lot is full of men who could be dangerous. Teenage girls don’t need to be around that, bringing you lunch or anything else.”

Manning took a deep breath and hesitated. “Lake didn’t bring it to me. I came in the house.”

“I beg your fucking pardon?”

“I invited him,” Tiffany said.

I nodded, scared, but willing to take the rap so Manning wouldn’t have to. “We both did.”

“Are you hearing this, Cathy?” Dad asked, but kept his eyes on Manning. “I’m going to have a word with your foreman. You—”

“That’s enough,” Mom said. “Charles, you’re overreacting. It’s just lunch for Christ’s sake, and Tiffany already told me about it.”

Dad turned to her. “You knew he’d been in here?”

“Briefly. For a sandwich. It’s not the end of the world.” She picked up her wine glass. “Maybe you should go back to your study.”

“That’s fine,” he said, tossing his napkin on the table as he stood. “Why should I sit at my own dining table and try to have a nice meal? I hope you’re happy, Tiffany.”

Once he’d left the room, we all turned to look at Manning. “I’m so sorry,” Tiffany said.

“He doesn’t dislike you,” Mom added. “That’s just how he is. He works hard and a lot, so he’s grumpy when he gets home.”

“It’s okay. I’m just grateful to have a home-cooked meal.” Manning had cleared his plate a second time. He pushed his chair back from the table. “Thank you, Mrs. Kaplan, but I really think I should go.”

“But the pie,” I said. I’d wanted to make Manning as happy as he’d been when he’d eaten the Lake Special the other day. I made it for you, I wanted to tell him, but I knew I couldn’t, so instead I just said, “I made it.”

“Please stay,” Mom said to Manning. “Lake was so nervous about getting the pie right for company. She made it with fresh blueberries just for tonight. Even the crust is from scratch.”

Manning hesitated. “But what about Mr. Kaplan?”

“Don’t worry about him,” Tiffany said. “He’s always like that, I swear.”

I stood. “I’ll go get the pie.”

Manning picked up his plate, too. “I’ll help serve. It’s the least I can do.”

Together, we went into the kitchen. Suddenly, my palms were sweaty. I wiped them on my dress and opened a utensil drawer to find a pie server. With my back to him, I said, “I’m sorry about my family.”

“What for?” Manning asked.

“All of it.” I glanced at him over my shoulder. “If my dad offended you at any point, I’m sorry.”

Manning smiled warmly. “Don’t worry about that, all right? I can take care of myself.”

“I know, but I—” I want to take care of you. I wanted to protect him. Comfort him. Feed him—as many servings as it took to fill him up. I couldn’t think of anything more simultaneously appropriate and inappropriate to say. A sixteen-year-old girl taking care of a grown man? It felt completely natural, like I could slot myself into his life, but it wasn’t. Not yet anyway.

“Your dad’s strict,” he said. “I’m glad he is. He cares about you.”

“Why’d you tell him you were in here?”

“This is his home. I owe him that respect.”

I didn’t understand it. Maybe it was a man thing.

The pie sat on a cake plate on the island. I uncovered it while Manning looked for plates.

“Use the ones with the gold leaves,” I told him. “Mom likes those for guests.”

“When you grow up, will you be one of those women who has specific plates just for guests?”

I smiled to myself and cut the pie as he held out a dish. We were like a couple already. A couple who could get married one day, buy a home, own special china. Tiffany would get tired of him soon, and in a few years, when I was older, nobody would even remember that Manning had once come here to meet Tiffany’s parents. The real obstacle would be keeping Manning close. I was too young for him, I knew it, and he obviously knew it, but I’d be eighteen in two years. USC was close to Orange County, too. Maybe he’d come with me, back to L.A.

Was Manning the type of man who’d keep special plates for guests? I couldn’t see it, but then my dad wasn’t, either, and he had them.

“I don’t know,” I said, gently sliding a slice from the server to a plate. “Maybe. It’s not just the dishes, you know. There are guest towels and guest sheets. The guest bathroom has nicer toilet paper than Tiffany’s and mine.”

He held out the next empty plate. “I guess for some people, it’s something to aspire to.”

“Not for you?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I didn’t say that. But I don’t know if I’ll be able to afford things like that on a cop’s salary. Your dad doesn’t seem to think it’s anything great. I guess if my wife wanted all that stuff, I’d find a way.”

I looked down, breathing a little harder. The word wife from his lips gave me goosebumps. What kind of girl would make him happy enough that he’d marry her?

“What’d I tell you?” Manning asked. “I can handle myself.”

It took me a moment to realize he thought I was upset about what my dad had said about law enforcement. I was, but luckily, Manning didn’t seem to be. “Are you really thinking of coming to camp? The first meeting is next week. I can find out if they’re still hiring.”

He avoided my eyes, looking at the pie. “It smells good. You like to bake?”

“When it’s for someone special.”

His smile looked almost sad. “Guest pie?”

I nodded. Manning was a good person. He took what my dad gave him, even though he didn’t have to. He put up with Tiffany. He brought my mom flowers. I hoped a small part of the reason why, or a large part, was me.

He picked up two plates, and I took the others.

“Hey, Lake?”

I stopped on my way out of the kitchen and looked back at him. “Yes?”

“Get me more information. On the camp thing. I could use the work.”

“Sure,” I said, my voice calm, casual, but only to hide that I felt as though his words had just set off a battery of fireworks inside me.