I nodded, even though none of these seemed like actual possibilities for ways to spend my time. I’d never had a job, had zero interest in juggling, and had pretty much written off Dickens after freshman year English. He’d lost me from page one of A Tale of Two Cities, when I’d been unable to grasp how something could simultaneously be the best of times and the worst of times.

Warren and Gelsey, in contrast, had no such problems figuring out what to do. Gelsey was going to do a barre with my mother every day, working on her technique so that she didn’t fall too far behind in her ballet training. My mom had also gone over to the Lake Phoenix Recreation Center and somehow convinced the people running it to let Gelsey use one of their rooms—when it was empty and the seniors weren’t using it for yoga—to practice in a few times a week. And as a compromise with my mother, Gelsey had also agreed to take tennis lessons. Warren had blissfully thrown himself into reading what seemed like his entire freshman course-load, and could usually be found on the porch or the dock, merrily highlighting away. The whole situation was yet another reminder of my siblings’ exceptionalism—as ever, they had something to do, the thing they’d always done, the thing that they seemed to know from birth that they were best at. Which left me, as usual, alone and far behind as they pursued their paths to greatness.

So for the past five days, I had mostly been wandering around and feeling in the way. I had never been so aware of just how small the house was, and how few places there were to hide in it. And ever since the two embarrassing Henry encounters, I was avoiding both the dock and the woods, and had pretty much stopped going outside, except for my nightly excursion to take the trash out to the bearbox (which had somehow become my job) and shoo away the dog who seemed to have no intention of leaving. My mother had also reported that when she’d stopped by to bring a planter of geraniums to Henry’s mother, she wasn’t there, but that a blond girl, around my age, had answered the door.

I had tried very hard not to think about this too much, and certainly wasn’t letting it bother me. After all, what did I care if Henry had a girlfriend? But it somehow, retroactively, made those two encounters with him even more humiliating, and I had been careful to avoid looking at the house next door, not letting myself wonder if he was home.

As I sat at the table now and watched my dad flip through his papers, I started to get the claustrophobic feeling that I was getting more and more lately—like I needed to get out but had absolutely nowhere to go.

“How are you doing on that?” my father asked, and I noticed him trying to read my crossword puzzle upside down.

“I’m stuck on this one,” I said, tapping my finger on the empty boxes. “A thirteen-letter word for ‘change.’”

“Hmm,” he said. He leaned back in his chair, frowning, then shook his head. “I’ve got nothing,” he said. “But maybe it’ll come to me. I’ll keep you informed.” He pushed himself back from the table and stood up. “I’m going to run some errands in town, kid,” he said. “Want to come?”

“Sure,” I said, automatically. It definitely sounded like more fun than pointlessly surfing the Internet, which was what had pretty much been on my afternoon agenda now that trailing behind my father was no longer an accepted option. I headed inside to get my shoes.

When I met him out on the driveway, my dad was standing by the driver’s side and tossing the Land Cruiser keys in his hand. I walked across the gravel, feeling the rocks through the thin rubber of my flip-flops, and stopped in front of the hood.

“All set?” my father asked.

“Sure,” I said slowly, adjusting the canvas bag over my shoulder. I couldn’t help but think about the pill bottles that were lined up on the kitchen counter. I had no idea what they were for—or what the side effects were. My dad hadn’t driven, as far as I knew, since the morning we left, when he showed up to get me and took me for bagels. “Do you want me to drive?” I asked, realizing I didn’t know how to phrase the question I wanted to ask. My father waved this away and started to open the door. “I mean… ,” I started. I could feel my heart beating fast. Criticizing my father—or questioning his judgment—was something I had absolutely no experience doing. “Is it okay for you to be driving?” I said it quickly, just trying to get the words out.

The sentence hung between us for a moment and when my father looked across the hood at me, his expression told me that I had overstepped. “I’m fine,” he said a little shortly. He pulled open the driver’s side door, and I walked around the hood to the passenger side, feeling my face get hot.

We drove in silence down our street for several minutes before I broke in. “So what are these errands?” I asked. I could hear how my voice was unnaturally cheery, not really sounding like me, and I realized it was probably the vocal equivalent of Warren’s strained smile.

“Well,” my father said, and I could tell by the way he glanced over at me with a quick smile before rolling to a stop at a stop sign, that he’d gotten past my comment and wanted to move on as well, “your mother has requested some fresh corn for dinner tonight. I need to pick up the mail. And…” He paused for a moment, then looked back at the road. “I thought you might want to stop by the Clubhouse. Maybe apply for a job.”

“Oh,” I said. “A job.” I looked out the window, feeling embarrassment wash over me. So he’d noticed that, unlike Warren and Gelsey, I had no talents to occupy my time with. Unfortunately, I also had no work experience—I’d spent the most recent summers doing things like service projects, language immersions, and going to camps in which I had to dissect things.

“You certainly don’t have to,” he said as we got closer to Lake Phoenix’s main street—called, creatively, Main Street. “It was just a thought.”

I nodded, and as my dad made the right turn onto Main and swung into a parking spot, I turned over his words in my head. I knew I couldn’t just keep hanging out at home with nothing to do. And, frankly, I didn’t see many other options. “Okay,” I said, shouldering my bag as we got out of the car. I shut my door and I tipped my head toward the Clubhouse building, where the Lake Phoenix administrative offices were. “I’ll give it a shot.”

My father smiled at me. “That’s my girl,” he said. I smiled back, but even as I did, I could feel an immediate, almost panicky reaction. I wanted to freeze this moment, keep it from moving on, dip it in amber somehow. But just as I thought this, my dad was already looking away, starting to walk up the street. “Shall we reconnoiter in thirty?” he asked.