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last plate, Riley leaped up to start clearing the table. My mother made that half-embarrassed, half-shaming gurgle in the depths of her throat that let you know, in no uncertain terms, you'd made a wrong move. "We have that taken care of," she said. Riley dropped back into his chair as she slid a manicured hand across the AI panel on the table. The servomechs skittered out from the kitchen and began to clear.
    "That's right, Mother," Zo said. "What kind of idiot would think that just because we treat people like servants, they should act accordingly?"
    "You think I'm too big an idiot to know you're talking about me?" Riley snapped, finally speaking up loud and clear--at exactly the wrong moment. I realized he thought she was making fun of him --and I couldn't correct him without making him feel even stupider.
    "You will not speak to my daughter like that in my house," my father said. He rose to his feet. "And I certainly hope you don't speak to Lia like that, ever ."
    Riley rose to meet him eye to eye. "I give your daughter the respect she deserves," he said, then paused just long enough to give me hope ... only to make it even worse. "Unlike some people."
    When my father got angry, he got quiet. His lips went
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    pale and thin. You'd think he was retreating. But I knew better. "You had better not be implying--"
    "Maybe we should skip dessert tonight," my mother said quickly, in a fluttering voice. She patted an imaginary bulge in her belly. "I'm just back from a binge-purge, and trust me, it's not an experience I want to repeat any time soon." She threw in some obviously fake laughter when it became clear the rest of us wouldn't oblige.
    "No one wants to hear about your fat suctioning, Mother," Zo said. "Although I guess that explains why you've got that disgusting vat of fat juice in the fridge. Maybe we should skip dessert if that's what you're planning to--"
    "Zo!" My mother's cheeks reddened. "That's tapioca pudding," she assured us. "Not ... I mean, obviously I wouldn't serve ..."
    "I think the term you're looking for is 'medical waste'," Zo said.
    "Your room." My father didn't have to shout--and he didn't have to say it twice. She was already halfway up the stairs by the time he spat out, "Now."
    I stood up and took Riley's hand. "I think that's our cue. Thanks for dinner."
    "Yeah." Riley gave my mother a quick, awkward nod. "Thanks."
    I couldn't believe I'd wasted time worrying about what Riley would think of the house, as opposed to the freaks who lived there.
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    "A moment, Lia?" my father said, blocking our path to the door. It wasn't a request.
    I squeezed Riley's hand. "Wait for me in the car?"
    He was out the door before I finished the question. Leaving me and my father alone in the marbled entry hall. Even as the door shut, the tiles were scrubbing themselves clear of any tracked-in mud and dirt, real or imaginary. My mother had trained the house to be even more compulsive than she was.
    "This boy ..." My father let the words dangle between us.
    "What about him?"
    "How much do you know about him?"
    "Enough." And how much do you know about him? I thought, but didn't ask, because I already knew the answer. My father always did his due diligence.
    "Where he comes from ..." It wasn't like my father to drag things out like this. Usually his proclamations were more like bullets, hitting their target almost before you realized the gun had gone off. "He's not like us."
    "Not good enough for us, you mean. I know you're thinking it, so you might as well say it."
    At least he still cares, I thought. At least he still thinks I deserve the best.
    "I say what I mean." He pressed his fingertips together, brushing the base of his chin. A shadow of beard was growing in gray. "And I mean: Be careful."
    "Riley would never hurt me." It had been too good to be
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    true, I thought, this silent truce between us. If he ordered me to stop seeing Riley, I would have to choose. I would have to choose Riley. "If you would give him a