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Shane, on the other hand, is here. He sidles up to me at my locker between third and fourth periods. “Hey, Joules.”

“Hi, Shane.” I start to walk away.

“I was thinking maybe I should drive you home today. You know, because of the photographers.”

“Thanks. But I’m good. Will is driving me.”

“Will’s in Chino Hills. It’s perfect timing. You swore you’d make time for us.”

I’m angry at Joules. She never told me she made promises to Shane. I stare at him and wonder what she sees in him. I mean, he’s cute in a dumb surfer kind of way, but he doesn’t compare to Will. “There’s an us?”

He nods, grinning. “Definitely.”

“Well, there can’t be. Not any more. I’m sorry, Shane. I’m trying to work things out with Will. You and me, us, can no longer happen.”

This time he barks out a laugh. As I walk away, he calls, “Yeah, right!”

Nigel calls me just after the final bell rings to say photographers are still swarming the house and do I want one of the publicists to pick me up? Better to dash from car to front door, he says, than have to walk through them out on the road. But I have no interest in hanging with either Clara or Sue right now, so I tell him no. I take side streets and cut through the running trail to avoid being spotted and make my way over to my old neighborhood. I cross State College and head up and over the hill to Highcliffe Court just to reassure myself my house and family are still there. Stupid, I know. But now that I have a way back to my life, I need to make sure I still have one.

It’s a funny house, all on one storey, and it looks a lot shorter than it actually is inside because the dark brown roof slopes down low. There’s this walled courtyard area in the front, just to the left of the walkway by the double doors. Other houses on the street have this same three-walled space but theirs is tiled and usually has a couple
of chairs and a bistro table, as if the owners envisioned themselves lounging out there with coffee every morning. But in all my years living here, I’ve never once seen it happen.

I position myself next to the mailboxes in the center of the cul-de-sac and pretend I’ve dropped something in the bushes so I can stare at the house for a minute without making anyone suspicious. Eventually the front door opens and Brayden and his crappy friends walk out. They play basketball on the driveway for a while, but not like regular boys. These guys trip each other and laugh when someone’s knee starts to bleed. One jumps at the net and hangs, feet kicking beneath him as he tries to break the rim. Tomas whips the ball at Bray as hard as he can. At one point a fight breaks out and Tomas presses Dillon’s face to the concrete. Just when I’m ready to stomp over there and break it up, the other guys haul Tomas off him and Tomas starts shoving them around instead.

How Mom doesn’t see the evil in these guys just baffles me.

When they move their baboonery into the garage, probably in search of garden tools to use as weapons, I make my way back to the main road and call Sue to come get me. If I have to pass through a throng of ravenous photographers, I’d like to do it wrapped in a couple of tons of metal and a feisty publicist.

T
he police arrive at 12:48 a.m. There’s nothing scarier than wicked pounding on your front door at that time of night. You’re either about to be robbed, or your neighbor is in the midst of being murdered and is hoping you’ll be able to wrangle the blood-soaked machete out of the madman’s grasp, or the police have arrived to ask, “Are you a Miss Joules Adams?” while twirling a pair of handcuffs on an index finger like a Frisbee.

In this case it’s the third.

I stand there at the door yawning like a moron in Joules’s dead soldier coat while they start firing questions at me about my whereabouts this evening. My whereabouts? Can’t they see I’ve just crawled out of bed? Even as Joules Freaking Adams I can’t have caused too much trouble while sleeping.

“I’ve been here the whole time,” I say, pulling the coat closed so the short cop behind the other two will stop looking at my knees. “Ask my …” I realize my mistake too late. There’s a photographer across the street, I can see the flash. Nigel must not come to the door or …

“What’s going on here?” Nigel booms as he wanders over in boxers and undershirt. “You’re hassling my daughter
in the middle of the night?” Behind him Sue races up (I
knew
she was sleeping with Nigel! She’s wearing nothing but a man’s pajama top and came out of his bedroom. Also, it makes me wonder about her—doesn’t she have a cat she needs to go home and feed? Or at least a plant that needs water?). She ushers Nigel away from the door, away from the photographer’s lens, and demands to know what they want from the Adams family at such an hour.

The cop with the cuffs says, “Break-in over on Highcliffe Court. We have a few questions for the young lady.”

I move closer, heart thumping. “Which house?”

Nigel roars from behind, “My daughter has been here all night!”

Sue waves the cops inside and shuts the door. “It’s okay, Nige. I’ll do the talking.”

“Which house?” I repeat. “Is everyone okay?”

The short cop who was looking at my knees squints at Nigel. “Hey, didn’t I read you were off in rehab somewhere?”

“He’s back,” Sue says with great authority. “Finished his stint and returned home quietly. But neither of you know that. Now, is there anything else you need from us? It is rather late.”

“Which house was it?” I repeat. “Was anyone hurt? What happened?”

“We need to take the young lady down to the station for questioning.”

“Based on?” says Sue.

“Based on witnesses who can place her in a position near the house several hours before the incident. Watching it.” My house.

It was my house.

Nigel and Sue look at me. “You were there?”

“No. Well, yes, but it’s not what you think.” I turn to Shorty. “Will you please tell me if everyone is okay? Was anyone home at the time?”

They fire questions at me.

“How long have you been watching the place, Miss Adams?”

“Were you with the others this afternoon?”

“Have you any involvement in the other break-and-enters in recent weeks?”

I’m too stunned to answer. All I can think of is my family being stormed, maybe even tied up, terrified, maybe worse. “Please tell me if everyone is okay! Are all the babies okay? Was anyone hurt?”

The mention of the babies sends them all into action. They don’t use the cuffs, and they do allow me time to change into jeans, but they lead me toward the door, with Nigel in the background saying he’d hop in the car with me but for the photographers. That he has no choice but to wait at the house. That he’ll get hold of his lawyer and send him to the station.

To be honest, Nigel not having it in him to accompany Joules when she’s being led toward a squad car in the middle of the night, it kind of makes me sick for her.

Maybe I don’t know everything when it comes to Nigel Adams.

Outside, the black of the night explodes with camera flashes. I blink as I climb into the police car and realize in horror that this episode is going to be on Perez Hilton by sunrise.

Joules. Is. Going. To. Kill. Me.

Finally. Once I’m in the interrogation room—this tiny gray cell with no windows and a glaring light over my head, where I sit on one side of a small table and a cop sits on the other—I find out what happened. My family was out, and someone gained entry through the side door by punching through the window and reaching in to undo the lock.

I’m so relieved no one was home I could pass out. “What was taken?”

“Not much,” the cop says. “Took the mother’s engagement ring from a dish by the sink and a big TV from the back room.”

I feel sick when I think Mom’s ring might be gone forever. Anyone who’s lived in our house for a month knows the story about that ring. Even when they were dating, Dad knew Mom wasn’t a shiny new jewelry kind of girl. New gold has no history, she told him. No emotional value. She’d always, since she was a little girl, loved her grandmother’s engagement ring. It’s nothing flashy, just a plain platinum band and a small round diamond.

When Dad was ready to propose to Mom, her grandmother had just died and left the ring to my Gran. Without telling Mom, Dad went to Gran and asked for the ring. He took it to a jeweler and had
Lise & Gary
inscribed on the inside. Mom cried when she saw it. And she only ever takes it off to wash dishes.

Anyway, doesn’t much matter now. It’s gone. And of course it was in the little dish by the sink. That’s where Mom puts it when she has to wash dishes without gloves.

And guess who took the gloves?

Me.

“Perps knew just where to head,” one cop says. “I mean, how many crooks would think to check the chipped dish where the SOS pad dries out? Most would ransack the bedroom.”

Not when they’ve just spent the afternoon at that very house and probably saw the diamond ring sitting right there while Mom washed up Kaia and Kaylee’s 4:30 bottles.

It was Bray’s friends—Tomas, Dillon and Ace.

“You’ll get off easier if you tell us who brought you into this.”

“No one brought me into this. I am not ‘in’ this!’”

He leans back in his chair and smirks like he doesn’t believe me for a second. “Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious. And shouldn’t I have a lawyer present? Or at least my dad?”

“You want them here? I’ll make a phone call.”

I think about it. No. I’d rather be on my own. Besides, Nigel can’t possibly leave the house. It could kill his career. “No. I’m a big girl.”

“So the neighbor just happened to see you squatting behind a mailbox watching the place the very day it’s busted into and I’m meant to believe you weren’t involved?”

“Yes.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious.” It’s not like I can start telling him about magic gloves right now. That would only get me locked up in a psych facility. “I, well, this is kind of embarrassing.”

He tries not to roll his eyes. “Believe me, I’ve heard it all.”

I smile nervously. “I’m kind of, well, I have a crush on one of the boys who was playing basketball in the driveway.”

He sighs hard and leans forward again, sips his coffee. “You willing to name the boys in the driveway?”

“I don’t know. Like I said, I kind of like this one guy …”

“It’s either that or we hold you tonight.”

I pretend to wrestle with the idea of turning in my lover. He prods me a bit more, brings in a plateful of donuts and a small coffee in a paper cup to cure this Joules headache I’m developing. Then I spill it. “Ace Curzon. Dillon Gee. And Tomas Mendocino, he’s the cute one.”

The cop stands up. “You did a good thing here tonight, Joules.” He sets his business card on the table in front of me. Officer Carl Beasley.

He goes out the door and I hear him say to someone, “Round up Ace Curzon, Dillon Gee and Tomas Mendocino and bring them in here, pronto.”

When I’m alone, I whisper to no one, “This is all my fault.”

Well, shock of the night. Or I guess I should say morning, since it’s after two. Nigel, the man himself, is on his way to come get me. Well, not me, exactly, but his daughter. I’m so glad for Joules I could almost cry. Nigel called a few minutes ago to say his career isn’t enough to keep him from his Jujube. He was actually on his way into
the garage, into the Model T, no matter what the consequences. Sue, of course, would drive. And Sue, of course, had a plan that would keep him from torpedoing her carefully orchestrated Nigel Adams comeback. So he’s been texting me for the last twenty minutes from beneath a blanket in the backseat.

I see Brayden sitting on the bench in a hallway. Which makes no sense, since his friends haven’t even been brought in yet.

From the look on Bray’s face, he’s pretty surprised to see me, too. Here’s my chance. Bray might not have any respect for Andrea Birch but he sure does think Joules Adams is cool. Maybe, just maybe, I can influence him enough to make sure my family is safe.

I sit down beside him and stretch my legs out in front of me, saying nothing for a while. When he starts to fidget and look around like he might leave, I say, “Whatcha doing here?”

“My house was busted into.” He motions down the hall. “My, um, parents are here looking at suspects’ photos or whatever.”

I fight the urge to run down the hall and look for them. Must remain casual. Detached. Joules-like. “They’re here? But what about the Ks?”

“My Gran came over.” Bray squints at me. “But how do you know about Kaylee and Kaia?”

Huge error! I struggle to find a reasonable explanation. “No. It’s … no, I don’t. I just … Andrea mentioned them once. You’re from Sunnyside, right?”

He blushes worse than I’ve ever seen and right away starts to fix his hair. “Yeah.”

“What’s your name? Byron? Brian?”

“Brayden.”

I nod and pretend to process this. “Weird. I could have sworn it was Byron.”

Out of the corner of my eye I see him puff air into his palm and sniff to make sure he doesn’t have bad breath. “It’s Bray, actually.”

“Cool.”

I let a minute pass. “I see you around school with your friends. Those guys are a bunch of losers. Why do you hang with them?”

He’s shocked, no question. He probably thought a girl like Joules would approve of Tomas and his posse of idiots. “I don’t know. They’re around.”

“Pretty lame reason.”

“What’s it to you?”

“It’s nothing to me. Why would it be anything to me?” I kick at something that isn’t there.

“What are you doing here anyway?” he says.

I miss our crazy family so much I can’t see straight,
I don’t say. I’m actually not sure how to answer this. I can’t give him the story I gave the police—that I have it bad for Tomas. I can’t tell the truth. And I don’t want him to think Joules Adams gets into trouble or he’ll think it’s the cool thing to do.

“Did you see all the photographers following me today?”

“Yeah. Who didn’t?”

“I was just filing a report. One of them dinged Nigel’s car.”

“That’s so cool.”

“That his car got junked?”

“No, that Nigel Adams is your dad. He’s, like, the greatest.”

I think of Brayden’s room back home. Of the Nigel poster on his door. The one on the wall behind his bed. We may fight, Bray may drive me out of my mind and insult my body on a regular basis, but he’s basically a decent kid who’s had a crappy life. He caught a break being sent to Mom because she loves him about as much as any natural mother could.

The way he’s looking at me now, with such awe, it wouldn’t take much to give this little guy the thrill of a lifetime. “You like Nigel?”

He reaches into the backpack at his feet and pulls out Nigel’s CD. “What do
you
think?”

I take it from him and look it over. The designer has airbrushed the rumpled bedding look off Nigel’s face. I grin at Bray. “Want to get it signed?”

“Seriously?”

I stand up. “Follow me.” I take him outside to where Sue and Nigel are about to pull into the driveway.

“He’s here? I thought he was in, you know …”

I look around as if making sure we’re alone, then bend down to whisper in Bray’s ear. “Can you keep a secret?”

The kid seriously looks like he might burst. “Yes.”

“You’ll be the only one outside of the family who knows it. So if it leaks I’ll know exactly who to blame.”

“I swear. I won’t say anything.”

I bend down to whisper in his ear. “He’s been home the whole time.”

Bray looks shocked.

“Swear you won’t tell.”

“I won’t.”

“Good. Because only you and his family knows. Only really close people.”

The look on Bray’s face at being told he’s practically family is priceless. An upside-down smile crosses his face and he stands about six inches taller.

Just then the Model T pulls up and Sue leans over to crank open the passenger-side window. Nigel’s head pops up from beneath a blanket in the back. He grins when he sees Bray holding his CD. “You want that signed, mate?”

Bray’s jaw drops. He can’t even speak as he hands over the case with shaking hands. Nigel signs and passes it back to him. “Stay cool, dude.”

Bray nods. “Yeah. Thanks!”

As I climb into the front seat, I shake a finger out the window at Brayden. “Remember. Get yourself some better friends and you’ll be a half-decent kid.”

Still stunned, still standing tall, he watches the car pull away and waves. I turn around and give Nigel a smile. “Hey, Dad? Thanks for coming.”

Nigel leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead.