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just going to share how… oh no! What if she wanted me to come live with her! No! It had to be my dad. It just had to be.
    I got out of the shower and got dressed quick. And I'd worked myself into such a state that I just barged into the kitchen, where Grams and Mom were putting together sandwiches, and said, “Are you here to tell me who my father is?”
    “Your”—Mom's face turned white as she looked at Grams—”father?”
    “Mom! I'm going to be fourteen—I can handle it!”
    My mom gave me a quivery smile. “Well… no. That's not why I'm here.”
    “It's not?”
    “No! I'm here because it's your birthday, sweetheart.”
    All of a sudden my mind flashed with an idea. “Okay, then, for my birthday I want my birth certificate.”
    “Your what?”
    “My birth certificate.”
    “But… it doesn't say who your father is.”
    “You wrote Unknown?” I blinked at her like mad, then said, “
Is
he unknown?”
    Grams had been trying to stay out of it, but when she heard that, she scolded, “Samantha!”
    “Well?” I asked. “What else am I supposed to think?”
    “You're supposed to think… you're supposed to think…” Grams looked to my mom for help.
    I shook my head. “Mom, in a few hours I'll be fourteen.
Fourteen.
Why is this such a big secret? Do you have any idea what kids my age talk about? Believe me, talking about who my dad is, is not going to shock me.” Then, since she was just standing there like a fish out of water, I said, “And even if it doesn't tell me anything, I still want my birth certificate.”
    “But… but why?” she stammered.
    “Because I have a friend who's an astrologer and she needs it to do my birth chart.”
    “Your birth chart? What's that?”
    “It's a way astrologers map out… you know, things about you. She usually gets a lot of money to do them because they're really complicated, but she's going to do mine for free.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I helped her get her watch back.”
    “Her watch?”
    “Never mind, Mom. The point is, I want my birth certificate.”
    “But I thought you didn't believe in the zodiac.” I studied her a minute. “That's not the point.” “Then what
is
the point?” “For my birthday, I want my birth certificate.” Finally Grams steps forward and says, “I think we can work that out, Samantha, but first, there's something else your mother wants to talk to you about.” She picks up a tray of sandwiches and heads into the living room, whispering to my mother, “It's time, Lana.”
    My mom fidgets. She flutters. She blinks and she sputters. Then she sits in the armchair, picks up a sandwich, looks at me, and says, “Funny you should ask about your birth certificate.” “Why's it funny?”
    “Because I have a little confession to make.” My head starts racing with the craziest ideas. If it wasn't about my father, then what could it possibly be? Wait! Maybe I wasn't really hers. Hey, why hadn't I thought of that before? It made perfect sense to me! It explained everything. But why would she adopt me when, let's face it, she didn't really
want
me. So maybe I was stolen? Maybe… but why would she steal something she didn't want? Or maybe they found me in a Dumpster. Yeah! Maybe they found me in a Dumpster and couldn't figure out what to do with me so they kept me. Or… Grams eyes my mother and prompts, “Lana…” “Don't push me, Mother,” my mom says back. Then she turns and gives me a quivery smile and I can tell— this is it.

So there I am, holding my breath, waiting for my mom to drop her bombshell, and you know what she says? She says, “Do you remember what a rough time you had in kindergarten?”
    “Kindergarten?” I squint at her. Leave it to my mom to bring up a completely unrelated, very sore subject. “What's kindergarten got to do with anything?”
    “Well, I made a mistake.”
    “About
kindergarten'?
You mean you shouldn't have let them hold me back?”
    “No, no. It was true—you weren't