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because I heard the faint strains of a very-enthusiastic “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” One boy’s voice was changing, and it cracked all over the place when he sang, “They never let poor Rudolph play in any reindeer games.” I wondered if it was Noah. Then I heard Stephanie running down the hall. A minute later, she peeked through my doorway, holding her raincoat and gloves.
    â€œYou sure you don’t want to come? We’re only doing it for an hour or so. It’ll be fun! A chance to get out of the house!”
    â€œNo,” I said. I thought about Noah’s face when Stephanie had said maybe I could come. Had he seemed like he wanted me to?
    â€œOkay, but I’m not feeling sorry for you!” Stephanie said. “We invited you!”
    She closed my door and was gone.
    â€œYou kids be careful,” I heard Norm say, and then the front door shut.
    I checked my new phone. Still no message from Dad.
    Later, after Stephanie had come back soaking wet from caroling and had taken a hot shower, after Stephanie told me about the new guy named Noah, who had an opinion about everything, after Mom fixed Christmas dinner for the four of us, after we sat around and watched Christmas specials and I finally put on Dad’s old Heineken T-shirt to go to bed, and after I was under the covers, groggy and half-asleep, Dad finally called me.
    â€œHey, dudette. How do you like the phone?” Dad sounded really happy, and his words were kind of running together.
    I propped myself up on one elbow in bed. “I love it! Thank you so much.”
    â€œGreat. I was pretty excited about it. I thought you’d like it. Yep, I thought you’d like it,” he repeated. “Merry Christmas.”
    â€œMerry Christmas! I tried to call you earlier,” I said, listening to his voice in the dark.
    â€œYeah, a couple of us went fishing today. You know,a bunch of single guys on Christmas Day. A cold day out on the water.”
    I turned on my bedside lamp. “Did you catch anything?” Now that I was talking to him, I forgave him for not calling me before.
    â€œWe got a few pompano and flounder and then cooked them for dinner.”
    I didn’t really know what kind of fish he was talking about, but pictured him twisting the hook out of a fish’s mouth and tossing the fish into a bucket. I pictured him sitting around a scarred wooden table with other men, talking loudly the way he did sometimes, running his fingers over his reddish mustache.
    â€œHow’s your mom doing?”
    I didn’t like it when Dad asked about Mom. She told me that he shouldn’t ask about her, that he should only be interested in me. “Fine,” I said shortly. Why didn’t he ask me how my Christmas was, anyway? I wanted to say something that would make him pay attention to me. “Something happened to me,” I said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI got suspended for fighting in school.” I waited for his reaction. When I’d imagined telling him before, I’d imagined that he’d be on my side. Now, suddenly, I was apprehensive.
    â€œFighting? What were you doing fighting?” he said impatiently, running his words together.
    â€œA girl called me a name and I threw a book at her. Then we started fighting.”
    â€œDiana! What’s the matter with you? Why can’t you control yourself?”
    â€œBut she called me a name.” I felt tears coming into my eyes.
    â€œI don’t care what she called you! You don’t go around fighting with people. This is just another example of you flying off the handle. How many times do I have to tell you? Stop and think before you act. You’re such a hothead.”
    Anger streaked through my body. “Mom says you’re a hothead! She says I got it from you! I thought you’d understand.”
    â€œYour mother thinks I’m a hothead? This is rich. She’s sitting there criticizing me to