Jane hustled across the street, the rogue backpack with the contraband making too much noise, as far as she was concerned. She hopped in the backseat and stashed the thing at her feet. The car started rolling before she got the door shut.

"Your father is coming home this evening."

"What?" Jane pushed her glasses up on her nose. "When?"

"Tonight. So I'm afraid the-"

"No! You promised!"

Her mother looked over her shoulder. "I beg your pardon, young lady."

Jane teared up. "You promised me for my thirteenth birthday. Katie and Lucy are supposed to-"

"I've already called their mothers."

Jane fell back against the seat.

Her mother's eyes lifted to the rearview mirror. "Take that expression off your face, thank you. Do you think you're more important than your father? Do you?"

"Of course not. He's god."

The Mercedes swerved to the shoulder with a lurch and the brakes squealed. Her mother twisted around, lifted her hand, and held the pose, her arm trembling.

Jane shrank back in horror.

After a moment of suspended violence, her mother turned away, smoothing her perfectly smooth hair with a palm that was steady as boiling water. "You… you will not be joining us for dinner this evening. And your cake will be disposed of."

The car started moving again.

Jane wiped her cheeks and looked down at the backpack. She had never had a sleepover before. Had begged for months.

Ruined. It was all ruined now.

They were silent the whole ride home, and when the Mercedes was in the garage Jane's mother got out of the car and walked into the house without looking back.

"You know where to go," was all she said.

Jane stayed in the car, trying to collect herself. Then she picked up the backpack and her books and dragged herself in through the kitchen. Richard, the cook, was bent over the trash bin pushing a cake with white icing and red and yellow flowers off a plate.