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She’s just clumsy. She’s a liar . A clumsy liar.”
    “Calm down, Kase,” I said. “Forget it. I believe you.”
    “I hate Mimi, and I hate her stupid sister!” Kasey said, running out and slamming the door. The whole house shook.
    I guess that could have gone better.
    I settled back onto my pillow and let my eyes close, lulled by the sound of the blinds rattling in the wind.
    I dreamed I was standing on an island in a swamp full of alligators. I could see their backs floating in the water, like logs. And then I saw Kasey swimming toward me, blissfully unaware of the predators that surrounded her. So I pulled out a rifle and shot any alligator that got close to her. Then Kasey was with me on the island, braiding my hair and singing me Christmas carols. And a battered doll in a ripped petticoat came out of the water and walked over to us, but Kasey couldn’t see her. And the doll pointed at Kasey and looked at me and said, Your sister is crazy.

A H, DINNER AT THE WARREN HOME. At best, an adventure in awkward silence, punctuated by the occasional screech of a fork on a plate. At worst, an apocalypse. That night it seemed like we might be in for an easy ride.
    I was in the kitchen when Dad showed up with Chinese food from the Golden Happy Family restaurant, which is like a huge joke. I doubt they would let us eat their food if they knew how far we were from being a golden happy family.
    “Hey,” he said.
    “Hey,” I said, turning away.
    Dad and I used to do all the father-daughter groups and camping trips and all that. But as I got older we stopped hanging out. Sometimes it feels like he’d rather spend all his time watching football and forget he even has a family. But every once in a while I miss the stuff we used to do together. He’d always made me laugh.
    Lately he had this permanent sad-dog expression on his face, like he wished we could still be buddies or something—and I was pretty sure he didn’t know he was doing it. I couldn’t even look at him. Like now, I stared at the floor instead.
    “I talked them into extra fortune cookies,” he said.
    I didn’t want to see the “please be my friend” look in his eyes.
    “Great,” I said, and ducked out of the kitchen. He stood there with his briefcase in his hand, his jacket draped over his arm. It was like a little knife stabbing me in the heart, to think I was hurting his feelings.
    Oh well.
    “Where’s Mom?” Kasey asked, slinking into the dining room and sitting in her usual chair.
    Dad set the containers of food down in front of us. “Off saving the world from a critical stapler shortage.”
    I stabbed my fork into a piece of pepper beef. For some reason it doesn’t bother me when Kasey and I talk about our mom, but when Dad does it, it feels . . . wrong. He’s supposed to defend her, not make fun of her.
    Mom is a district manager for a big office supply company. She’s been trying to make the jump to vice president for, like, two years. Which means she’s always at the office—and when she’s not, she’s grouchy because she can’t stop worrying about being at the office.
    We spooned our food out in silence. Kasey’s plate was mostly rice, with the tiniest bit of kung pao chicken. She hates spicy food, but the rest of us eat it, and as usual, she just lets everybody steamroll her. It’s like she thinks we won’t like her anymore if she says what she really thinks. Or that our parents will think she’s “bad”—bad like me.
    We always eat our fortune cookies first. I unwrapped mine and broke it in half, then read the slip out loud:
    “‘Home is where the heart is.’”
    Kasey shrugged, unimpressed, and unfolded hers. “‘You are a very trusting person.’” She balled it up and tossed it over her shoulder.
    “These aren’t even fortunes,” Dad said. “They’re just sayings.” He cracked his cookie open and looked at the little paper. “‘Neither a borrower nor a lender be.’”
    The front door slammed. Mom’s