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breasts critically. “Average,” she said, turning sideways, then facing front again. Not like she could do much to improve them, short of getting implants, and she was
not
an implant kind of girl. She knew girls who were, though—girls who’d already had nose jobs, girls who were all about improving their bodies so they could get better guys. Girls who knew how to flirt. Girls who wore those mini-stilettos called kitten heels, and big smiles for their daddies so they could get more money to shop with.
    Savannah knew she wasn’t especially good at flirting, not with boys and not with her dad, but she
was
a straight-A student, good at figuring things out—which was much more valuable in the long run. Besides, Kyle obviously liked smart women, seeing as how he thought she was a college student with serious career aspirations and all.
    She’d just changed into the yellow Earth Day tank top and gray knit shorts she slept in when she heard a tap on her bedroom door.
    “Yeah,” she said. “Come in.”
    The door opened. “Hey, sweetie, you ready for bed?” her mom asked.
    “What does it look like?” Savannah said, moving her laptop from her bed to her desk in a show of being finished with it. She knew that once her mom left the room, she could play guitar or make a phone call or open up the computer again without any fear of being interrupted. Her mom was nothing if not predictable; once she said good night, Savannah wouldn’t see her again until the next morning. Some kids might take much better advantage of this predictability than she ever had—sneaking out, for example, or sneaking someone in. She never did that kind of thing, never had a reason to, before.
    Her mom sat on the side of the bed. “You’re such a wise guy. What does it
look
like? It looks like you’re ready to race sled dogs in the Iditarod. But I think maybe a good night’s sleep is in order first.”
    Savannah sat down near her pillows and pulled her knees up to her chest. “Funny,” she said. “Not.”
    “Actually, you look like you might be about to audition for a strip-club job.”
    “
Mom
,” Savannah said.
    “What? Those shorts are scandalous.”
    “You bought them.”
    “When you were
twelve
, if I remember right. What is it with teenage girls and short clothing?”
    “It’s just a style.”
    “Hmm. Well, don’t wear those in public. Dad would kill you.”
    Savannah looked down at the shorts, which she was planning to wear in Miami. “Don’t worry,” she said.
    “So…do you need anything?” her mom asked, looking around her bedroom in that way Savannah knew parents did when searching for signs that their kids smoked or drank or whatever. This made her feel guilty before she’d even done anything wrong.
    She took a bit of her hair and pulled it in front of her face, braiding it quickly.
I need my car
, she thought. She said, “Shampoo.” And then, seeing an opening, she added, “Oh, and I have this question: remember how, when we were in London last fall with Aunt Beth—”
    “Wasn’t that a great trip? This fall, the conference is going to be in Singapore. Do you think you’d like to go? Dad’s been there and he loved it—well, he loved the golf courses anyway; the food wasn’t his thing. But—”
    “Mom,” she interrupted, now unbraiding her hair.
    “Oh, sorry. What about it?”
    “I was thinking it might be cool to fly out to visit her this summer, like, just on my own. Can kids do that, fly alone, I mean?”
    Her mom said, “Sure. Remember, there were three little boys in matching tie-dye shirts and airline badges on that flight to London?”
    “Oh, yeah. So then, you don’t have to be eighteen or whatever?” She began braiding again, then caught herself and pushed the hair back behind her ear.
    “Nope. As I understand it, the airlines all have special services for unaccompanied children—they have flight attendants assigned to them, and a parent or relative has to meet them at their destination