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she’s in a bad mood about it.
    The woman squeezed between her car and Alice’s and headed for the mall entrance, and now Alice thought: She left her keys in the ignition.
    Keys.
    Ignition.
    If Alice could not drive the Corvette, because the police were searching for it… could she drive another car !
    The woman vanished into the mall. There would be telephones in the mall. Should Alice find a phone, or drive away?
    Alice needed time to think. She could not shake off her shock and confusion. Maybe she should drive away…in somebody else’s car. One with the keys conveniently hanging from the ignition.
    Could she just get out of the Corvette, climb into the van, and drive off?
    Alice had never stolen anything in her life. Not a pack of gum. Not even a pencil off a teacher’s desk.
    Alice got out of the Corvette and locked it. Dad never parked in places like this. He parked way at the back of lots, a hike from the mall entrance, angling the Vette over two spaces so nobody could open a door and dent his beloved car.
    Alice looked into the Windstar.
    She was right.
    The vehicle was not locked. The keys were there. The car was hers to steal.
    Alice stood with her nose pressed against the van window, like a child staring at toys.
    A few hours ago I was worried about whether I could get the nail polish to lie smoothly on my fake nails, thought Alice. Now I am considering whether to steal a car.
    She thought of her best friend Kelsey. She and Kelsey had managed the exact same class schedule for two years, and were co-captains of JV softball. Kelsey would never believe that Alice could behave like this. Alice, who never even pretended to be sick in order to miss a test? Evading police and stealing cars?
    The rest of her friends—Emma, Laura, Cindy, Mardee—would think: Alice? She doesn’t even ask the office to let her switch teachers when she gets one she can’t stand. She’s not going to kill somebody. Certainly not her own father.
    Then they would think: but it does happen. Look at that woman who drowned her two little boys.
    All right, said Alice to herself, talking to Mom comes first. I have to get to a phone. Besides, if I take the van, where would I drive? I have to have a destination. The only destination I’ve ever had is our house, which is now just Mom’s—probably Rick darling is there. Probably police—probably even police in my bedroom—touching my things—looking for clues!
    At her father’s condo, there must also be police. And reporters, obviously. TV cameras, and—
    Alice shut her mind down like a bank at night, refusing to think of where and what Dad might be.
    So far, she thought, the only thing I’ve done wrong is to drive my own father’s car without a license. I can get into trouble for that, but I don’t think a whole lot of trouble. Do I want to add car theft? Do I want that woman, who’s angry anyway over her package, to come back and there’s no van here?
    In the creepy way of headlights in the dark, the lights of a car not yet visible made jumping rectangular patterns around the rough cement walls of the parking garage.
    Alice thought: It’s the police car.
    She’d been hanging out as if she had all the time in the world. Things to analyze, strategies to plan, anger to feel. But if those headlights belonged to the cop, she had no time at all.
    She thought of hiding in the van, hunching down—
    —but that was childish and ridiculous, like hiding in your own closet if you heard noises.
    The police would be all over the Corvette in seconds, and she would be trapped inches away.
    That is stupid, thought Alice. I am stupid. This is what you are supposed to learn from all these years of watching television. Cooperate with the police. Tell the truth. Be a good girl.
    Alice had definitely watched her share of television. She and Dad were partial to real-life cop shows and always hoped that for once, instead of filming in Atlanta or Los Angeles or Miami, they’d come here and film streets