"They got in a fight," I said.
She glanced toward the staircase. "Give your sister some space," she said, turning back. "She'll calm down."
"Lake?" Dad called. "Get in here."
I had no reason to be nervous, but my mouth went suddenly dry. Tiffany was both stupid and brave for regularly picking fights with my dad. I didn't consider myself either of those things.
I peered into the study. Dad sat at his desk, tinkering with his new computer. We were only allowed in there when he was home. He had important papers and files that couldn't be disturbed, and as of a few weeks ago, we were most definitely not to go near the study. He'd purchased the IBM he said was worth more than me. After a month of debate over whether he actually needed a personal computer, he'd let me go with him to pick it out. He'd spent two days just setting it up, and that night, he'd let me watch as he'd moved icons around, opening them, showing me what he'd called "the future in a box."
I crept into the room.
"When will you get your summer school grades?" he asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "It's unacceptable that we have to wait at all."
"Not for a couple weeks," I said. "But I'll get an A-plus in both classes."
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
He breathed in so deeply, his chest expanded. With his exhale, he relaxed back into his leather chair. "That's my girl. What would I do without you?"
I furrowed my brows. "What do you mean?"
"Just that I don't think I would've survived another emotional teenager. You're like me. Focused. Logical." He leaned his elbows on the desk. "Now, let's talk about the reading list. You're falling behind?"
I wasn't as dramatic as my sister, but I hadn't considered I might be more like my dad. If I was a little of both, where did that put me? "This book is just longer than the others," I said.
"You had no trouble with Catch-22. That's a big one."
"Because I liked it."
"You liked it?" For whatever reason, that seemed to surprise him. "So did I. But not liking a book isn't a reason to hold up the whole list."
I recalled my conversation with Manning earlier about reading what I wanted, not what was required. "Maybe I could take a break and read something for fun."
"There'll be a lot you won't want to read in college. Just push through, Lake." He turned back to his computer, effectively dismissing me. "Besides, I'd like you to finish so I can give you my own list."
That was my summer in a nutshell. I didn't need to ask why it had to be packed with schoolwork; I already knew. USC wasn't looking for the type of student who finished some or most of her reading list. They wanted the ones who went above and beyond. Who had a second list. And it wasn't that I didn't want to do it-I loved to read. But maybe Manning and Tiffany were right. Would it be so bad if I did something that wasn't mandated by my dad, like picked up a book that interested me or took a night off?
"I want to go to the fair," I said. "With Tiffany."
He inspected the bottom of the handheld bulbous device that attached to the computer-a mouse, he'd called it, which had made me giggle. "I already said no."
"I've been working really hard, Dad. I did summer school, I've been reading or studying non-stop, and next month, I'm volunteering to be a camp counselor again. Shouldn't I get to have a little fun before summer ends?"
He looked up. "You know who has fun? Your sister. Do you want to turn out like her, no job, no money, living with us after high school? She had a chance to read the same books and get the same education you are, but she chose to goof off instead."
At times, his disappointment in her seemed unfair. As long as I could remember, he'd expected little of her and a lot of me. I was just fulfilling his expectations-wasn't it possible she was doing the same?
Before I could decide whether or not to defend her, he sighed. "You can go to Balboa and that's it. Come straight home after."
I smiled. "Thanks, Daddy. I'll finish the book by then, promise."
I went directly from his study to knock on Tiffany's door. Her music was up loud, so I had to pound a little harder.
"Go away," she said.
"It's me."
"I know."
I entered, even though Tiffany might eviscerate me, to tell her the good news.
She lay on her bed, a pillow over her face. "What do you want?"
I stayed by the door in case she threw anything. She'd once broken the receiver of her touchtone because Dad had blown up over the phone bill. I couldn't tell if she was crying. Usually when she did, it was loud enough for all of us to hear. Tiffany didn't really see the point of crying if nobody knew about it.
"Dad's letting us go out Saturday night."
"I should've just had you ask in the first place. Duh. You always get what you want."
I'd tried to do something nice, and now I was the bad guy. "Because I actually had something to bargain with. I'm doing well in school, so I get to ask for things. Maybe you should try to do something, too."
She grabbed the pillow and flopped it on the bed next to her. "Like what?"
"I don't know . . . get a job?"
"I barely got through high school."
"You're exaggerating," I said. "Your grades just weren't up to Dad's impossible standards. You should just try to find something, even if it's part-time."
"Where?"
I rubbed my nose. "How about Nordstrom? You spend enough time there anyway."
She blinked up at the ceiling. I thought I saw a hint of a smile. "At the mall the other day, this guy asked if I was a model. Maybe I could do that."
"Like . . . as a career?"
"Um, have you heard of Claudia Schiffer?" she asked. "Or Linda Evangelista? She doesn't wake up for less than ten thousand dollars a day."
Tiffany was beautiful, there was no denying it. Truthfully, I couldn't think of anyone I knew personally who was prettier than my older sister. But I wasn't sure I could picture her walking the runways like the models in her coveted magazines. "I think you have to be, like, five-eight," I said. "Or at least five-seven like Kate Moss."
"I am five-seven." She balked at me. "You and I are the same height."
I wasn't getting into that argument again. Mom had measured us both months ago, but despite the evidence, Tiffany insisted she wasn't a half inch shorter than me. "Maybe you could model for Nordstrom, like in their catalogues," I suggested.
"You think?" Her eyes lit up. "Then I'd get free stuff."
"I don't think you get free stuff," I pointed out, although I wasn't sure. "Do you?"
"You get an employee discount, so it's practically free."
"So you'll try then? Maybe go down there and see how it works?"
She didn't answer. I picked up the CD case next to her stereo. Gin Blossoms. The bands she listened to always had strange names. Like Pink Floyd. Was Floyd a person or a thing? If it was a thing, was it always pink, or did it come in different colors? I wanted to ask but she might've noticed Manning's shirt, too, and then she'd want to know why I cared. But if it meant not embarrassing myself in front of him again, then I'd take that risk. "Do you know who Pink Floyd is?"
"Yep," she said.
"Do you have their CD?" I asked.
"I might have a tape I took from this guy I used to see. He was into them."
"Will you play it for me?"
"What am I, your servant?" she asked but smiled. "Maybe later. Where'd you hear about them?"
She must not've noticed Manning's shirt after all. "At school."
"Of course. I hate when good stuff goes mainstream, you know?"
I didn't know. "Are they new?"
"No. Even Mom and Dad know Pink Floyd. But when high school kids start talking about it, then it's really not cool."
I guess Tiffany had forgotten she only graduated high school a year ago.
She sniffled, staring up at the ceiling.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"Why?"
"Because of what Dad said."
"Oh. Yeah. He can be such an asshole."
I put the CD down and went to sit on the edge of her bed. "He just has a bad way of showing he cares."
"Whatever," Tiffany muttered. "Honestly, it could be worse. I could be you."
"Me?" I asked. "What's that mean?"
"At least he mostly leaves me alone." That was true. Dad and Tiffany fought, but he'd stopped trying to get her to do most things. She no longer came home by curfew or pretended she didn't drink or paid for her own gas-that had lasted less than a month. "But you," she continued, "he'll be on your case nonstop for at least six more years, all the way through college. It's only going to get worse as you start applying to schools."