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domesticness of the situation suddenly hit me. I blinked back tears, remembering how I’d done the same kind of stuff at home, with Dad, and how I’d grumbled about it and made him remind me five times and stuff. Now, what I wouldn’t give to be at home with Dad nagging me! I would be the perfect daughter if I could only have another chance. I gulped, thinking maybe it was time to go cry on my bed for a while.
    “Excuse me.”
    I whirled, sniffing and brushing my hand across my eyes. I hadn’t heard Richard come up behind me. I closed the dishwasher door. “What?” I said, feeling unnerved.
    “Axelle sent me down for matches,” he explained in a husky, un-kid-like voice, stepping past me into the narrow kitchen. He was slender but wiry, with defined muscles. He was wearing black motorcycle boots.
    “Don’t you—?” I began, and he glanced up at me. I could see that even though he was young, he would probably be really good-looking when he grew up. If he lost the face jewelry. “Don’t you think you’re a little young for that?” I waved my hand toward the hidden stairway. Richard looked at me, expressionless. “I mean—do your folks know where you are? Don’t you worry about getting in trouble or having it lead to bigger stuff that could actually really be dangerous?”
    Richard picked up the box of matches. “I’m an orphan, honey,” he said, with a funny little smile. “And it’s not what you think, upstairs. You’ll find out.”
    Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good. “I mean, it’s not too late to quit,” I said, feeling more and more unsure.
    He did smile then, showing a hint of the man he would become in a couple of years. “It’s way too late to quit,” he said, and gave a little laugh, like there was a private joke somewhere. He left me and went back through the door, and feeling completely weirded out, I glanced absently at the stack of newspapers.
    Time to register for school, those attending Orleans Parish public schools, I read. I had to move Minou’s tail to finish the headline. School started on August 26, barely three weeks away. It listed a web site where you could register online.
    “Oh, Thais,” said Axelle, coming into the kitchen. She rummaged in the cupboards and pulled out a box of salt. “Listen, don’t go anywhere—we’ll be done in a while and then we’re going out to dinner.”
    I nodded. We always went out to dinner. “Um, I have to register for school.”
    Axelle looked at me blankly.
    I tapped the paper. “It says it’s time to register if you’re going to public school. Which I assume I am.”
    She seemed to recover and said, “Well, you don’t have to go if you don’t want. You’ve probably gone enough, right?”
    Now I stared at her, her beautiful face that never seemed to show lack of sleep or hangovers or anything else, the black eyes that had no pupils. “I haven’t graduated high school,” I said slowly, as if I were explaining something to a child. “I have one more year.”
    “Well, what’s one year?” she asked, shrugging. “I bet you know everything you need to know. Why don’t you just hang out, relax?”
    My mouth dropped open. “If I don’t graduate high school, I won’t be able to go to college.”
    “You mean you’d sign up for four more years?” She looked appalled.
    “How am I going to get a job? ” Or did I not need one, here on Planet Unreality?
    Now she looked downright shocked. “Job?”
    Okay. I was getting nowhere. I could see that. Thanks, Dad, I thought, tasting bitterness in the back of my throat. You sure can pick ’em . I took a deep breath and let it out. “I’ll take care of it,” I said calmly. “I’m going to school, and I’ll register myself. I’ll let you know what happens.”
    Axelle looked like she was trying to think up a good argument but couldn’t come up with anything. “Well, if that’s what you want to do,” she said reluctantly.
    “Yes,” I said firmly. “Don’t worry about