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deflating. “That’s not going to help much. I was hoping to bond with Amelia over music.”
    “I can teach you how to pull a quarter out of her ear,” Dex suggested.
    “Thanks, but I don’t think she’s the kind of kid who will be impressed by magic tricks. Any other ideas?”
    Dex thought for a few moments. “I make excellent paper airplanes. Would she like that?”
    “Doubtful.”
    “Other than surfing and playing lacrosse, that pretty much exhausts my list of talents,” Dex said.
    “Thanks anyway. I’ll figure something out. How was your first day of work?”
    “Excellent. No one drowned, which is always a big plus when you’re a lifeguard.”
    “Did you get to save anyone?”
    “No. I did break up a cutthroat game of Marco Polo,” Dex said.
    “How can Marco Polo be cutthroat?”
    “Let’s just say it involved DP-ing,” Dex said ominously.
    “What’s that?”
    “It stands for Down Pants-ing.”
    “Oh,” I said. “Yeah. That doesn’t sound good.”
    “Let’s just say that I saw more of Jacob Maddigan and Robby Rios than I ever wanted to see.”
    I laughed. Right now, talking to Dex, was the happiest I’d felt all day.
    “Are we still on for tomorrow night?” Dex asked.
    “Absolutely,” I said.

Chapter Five
    “H i, Miranda,” Mrs. Fisher said as she opened the front door to me on my second day of work. “How are you this morning?”
    “Hi, Mrs. Fisher. I’m fine, thanks,” I said. I shouldered my knapsack. Along with my writing notebook, it contained everything I could think of to bring that would interest a ten-year-old girl: art supplies, including construction paper, craft felt, glue, glitter and feathers, board games, and a selection of makeup pinched from Hannah’s bathroom drawer. She’d left for her trip to New York the day before, and so wouldn’t notice the missing candy-hued lip glosses and sparkly eye shadows.
    “Amelia’s practicing,” Mrs. Fisher said, stepping aside to let me in.
    I’d already figured this out, as I could hear the repetitive rise and fall of piano scales coming from the living room.
    “She said that you two got along well yesterday,” Mrs. Fisher said, striding away down the hall.
    “She did?” I asked, trailing behind her.
    If Mrs. Fisher heard the surprise in my voice, she didn’t comment on it. She seemed to be in a hurry this morning, simultaneously sorting through the mail, drinking coffee, and fastening a chunky beaded bracelet onto her wrist.
    “I’m sorry to rush off on you, but I have a client meeting I have to get to. I didn’t get a chance to make you girls lunch, but there’s some leftover pasta in the fridge. You can reheat that in the microwave,” Mrs. Fisher said, gathering up her belongings.
    “Sure, no problem,” I said in a tone that I hoped inspired confidence.
    “Bye, Miranda. Have a good day.”
    “Bye,” I said.
    “Good-bye, Amelia,” Mrs. Fisher called out, raising her voice to be heard over the droning scales.
    Amelia didn’t answer her, but Mrs. Fisher didn’t seem to notice. Her cell phone rang, and she clicked it on and lifted it to her ear.
    “Hello,” she said, leaving the house in a cloud of perfume, click-clacking heels, and animated conversation directed into the small, silver phone. When the door closed behind her, cutting her off midlaugh, the house suddenly seemed very still and quiet, save for the sound of Amelia’s piano.
    “Here goes nothing,” I muttered to myself. I turned and headed toward the living room.

    The Fishers’ living room was large, but still cozy and full of comfortable furniture—chairs, two couches, tables, bookshelves, and, of course, Amelia’s large piano.
    Amelia sat at the piano, her back perfectly straight, and her small hands gliding easily over the keys. Her long dark hair was fastened back in a ponytail.
    “Hi, Amelia,” I said as I walked up behind her.
    She ignored me. I had expected this, and had already planned my line of attack. I was going to annoy