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“And you …”—he pointed at me—“are joining some clubs to work on your social skills.”
    I stopped in my tracks. “But I’m already going to a slumber party! With awkward conversations about boys and feelings. Isn’t that enough?”
    â€œThat’s one night,” said Dad. “Even less if you pretend to be deaf or asleep, which I wouldn’t put past you.”
    â€œFine.” I got into the backseat of the car. “I’ll look at the list of clubs tomorrow.”
    â€œI want you to sign up for two,” said Dad.
    â€œSure,” I said. I’d join as many as he wanted. It didn’t mean I was going to participate.
    â€œAnd I want signed proof that you were at the meetings,” he added.
    I slammed my door, wishing Dad wasn’t so smart sometimes.
    â€œWhat about Parker?” I pointed out, blocking a slap my brother aimed at my head. “He’s a weakling.”
    â€œDon’t worry about your brother,” said Dad. “I’ll come up with something.”
    â€œJust so you know, I refuse to sweat,” Parker spoke up. “It makes my hair look strange.”
    â€œI don’t think it’s sweat doing that,” I said.
    This time Parker succeeded in punching my shoulder. “See? I’m not a weakling.”
    Nick glanced back from the front passenger seat. “Yeah, good job. You can beat up a twelve-year-old girl.”
    Parker yawned and leaned back. “It still counts as physical activity.”
    â€œYou can’t count hitting your sister as physical activity, Parker.” Dad pulled out of the campus lot. “Not unless you chase her for a while first.”
    â€œDad!” I laughed and pushed the back of his seat.
    He winked at me in the rearview mirror. “I promise, this is going to be—”
    â€œExcellent,” my brothers and I chorused.
    â€œSee?” said Dad with a grin. “You’re already thinking like a team.”

Chapter 4
    A pparently, Dad’s idea of excellence was waking his children up for school with the terrifying blast of an air horn.
    HOOOOOOOOOONK!
    â€œGet up, get up! We’re on a tight schedule!” Dad called into my room before sprinting down the hall.
    HOOOOOOOOONK!
    I opened my eyes and saw nothing but white.
    â€œWha—?” I gasped in confusion and almost sucked a sheet of paper into my throat.
    Dad had taped a note to my forehead.
    I ripped it off and flipped it over, squinting blearily at what was written on the other side.
    7:00 Get up!
    7:02 Evacuate.
    7:05 Shower.
    I groaned when I realized this was the exact schedule laid out in Ms. Success’s book. Dad had picked Tuesday morning to practice the time management exercise.
    â€œAlex!” Dad popped his head into my doorway again. “Get up! You’re already behind!”
    Nick appeared beside him, looking as irritated as I felt. “Why do we have to evacuate?” he asked. “Did Alex set our house on fire this time?”
    I chucked my pillow at him, then got up to retrieve it when I realized I’d need it for sleep.
    Dad saw me making the crawl back to the covers and grabbed my arm. “No you don’t. Time to get up. And Nick, ‘evacuate’ is a nicer way of saying ‘use the restroom.’”
    Nick squinted for a moment, and then his eyes widened. “Ohhh. Like evacuating your body of … I only get three minutes for that?!”
    â€œWell, yes. It’s not supposed to be a leisure activity,” said Dad.
    â€œI think I have someone else’s schedule,” said Parker, rubbing his eyes as he stumbled toward us. “Mine says, ‘Seven twenty … Apply makeup.’”
    Nick and I looked at our schedules.
    â€œMine says ‘Groom facial hair,’” said Nick.
    I frowned. “So does mine.”
    Parker leaned close to study me. “I was wondering when someone was going to mention