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over an hour each way. Now, since I’d be leaving over twenty minutes later than usual, I’d be sitting in rush hour traffic. I probably had more than an hour and a half drive ahead of me.
                  Eva pulled the straightener thing through her hair for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I’m almost ready. I just need to put on mascara.”
                  “You don’t need mascara. You look fine. And when did you start wearing makeup anyway?"
                  “Ugh," she grunted in disgust as she put the straightener on the bathroom countertop and threw her makeup in a bag. “‘Fine’ isn’t good enough. And I’ve been wearing makeup for months. You don’t notice anything . I’ll just do it in the car,” she huffed. “Let’s go.”
                  The drive to school took even longer than expected as Eva told me repeatedly to slow down and be careful going over any speed bumps for fear of ruining her makeup. “Where’d you learn how to do that anyway?” I asked, nodding toward some powder thing she had in her hand.
                  “Brittany’s mom. She taught a bunch of us at a sleepover.” Her voice seemed more chipper than it had before we'd left the house. Only ten minutes earlier she’d been ready to give me a third degree burn with that hair contraption, and now she acted like it had never happened. Teenagers.
    “ Brittany’s mom?” I raised an eyebrow and looked over at her, hoping that she’d pick up on the reason for my question without my having to spell it out for her. Brittany’s mom was not the female influence I wanted for Eva. Her skin stayed perpetually bronzed, even during the winter thanks to baby oil and tanning salons. And to my knowledge, she didn’t own one article of clothing that didn’t cling to her body like plastic wrap. I wasn’t sure what she did for a living, but some of the other fathers and I had speculated on more than one occasion.
    Eva flipped the mirrored visor up roughly, letting it slap against the roof. “Yeah, Brittany’s mom. Gosh, what’s your problem today?”
    There’s the Eva I remember so vividly from earlier. “Sorry,” I replied with a slight shrug of my shoulders and a smirk.
    “Just drop me off over there,” she said pointing to a side entrance of the building that was about thirty yards away from the main doors. “I don’t want people to see me getting out of your car.”
    As ridiculous as I thought that was, she was still a thirteen-year-old girl, and I didn’t want to embarrass her. I rolled my eyes, but began to veer down the driveway toward the entrance Eva had requested.
    Until I saw her. Lily. Walking up the sidewalk toward the school. My mind scolded itself for even thinking her name. And as if by reflex, I slammed on my brakes and threw the car into reverse.
    “What are you doing, Dad? I said up there.” Eva directed me to the doors she’d requested.
    “Uh, I’m gonna drop you at the edge of the parking lot.” I searched for an excuse that would seem believable. Somehow telling Eva that I didn’t want to run into her teacher from last year (you know, the one I’d been screwing) didn’t seem like an appropriate response. “The buses are pulling up. It’ll be easier to turn around. And it's not cool to be seen with me, remember?" I quickly added hoping that would strengthen my argument.
    Eva seemed to accept the excuse without question, and I sighed internally with relief. But she had always been observant: able to read people better than most. “What are you looking at?” she asked as her eyes shifted toward the school.
    Shit, shit, shit. Had I been that obvious? I was surprised at how easily I recognized Lily from twenty-five yards away. Her wavy brown hair had grown longer, almost reaching the middle of her back. And her skin was still golden from the summer. But as much as I didn't want to think about her, didn't want to see her, I couldn't