I flush. “Me, too.”

He pulls back the door wide. “In, Miss Stanton. The sooner you get in there, the sooner you get home.”

I enter the room. Empty—no surprise, since I’m pretty sure I’m the only one with a lame enough life to get detention the last day before a two-week break—and then I turn back to Bobby. “I’ll text you when I get home and let you know if I can go to your house before you leave.”

When the door closes behind me, I reach into my pocket for the pink slip and stop in front of the desk where my advocacy teacher is sitting.

I hold out the paper to her. “Sorry, Mrs. Trent.”

She looks up from her laptop and points at the chair. “Sit, Miss Stanton.” She leans back, staring at me above the rims of her half-glasses. She frowns. “Are you doing OK, dear?”

I tense.

That question I wasn’t expected.

I nod. “I’m great.”

Her crinkled brows lower. “I know you kids don’t think so, but you can talk to me about anything. Not just about your future academic plans. Talking to someone might work better than how you are dealing with your circumstance at present.”

Hmm—well, this is random. Where is she going with this?

She slaps shut the laptop, grabs a pen, and signs my pink slip. “Get out of here, Kaley. You don’t need detention for giving Natasha the bird. We’re done for today.”

I stare at her, stunned.

“Thank you, Mrs. Trent. You can be really cool sometimes.”

Her brows shoot up. “No, I’m not being cool. I want you to remember what I said. Talk to me. There are other ways to deal with your issues than how you are managing them.”

A burn crowds my cheeks, but I nod and hurry out of the room before she can say anything else or change her mind.

When I get to the parking lot, Bobby has already cut out. I debate whether I should go to his house and pretend I was at OCD or go home like Chrissie ordered me to.

I climb into my car and pull from my spot. At the exit, I look left toward Bobby’s and right toward my house. My fingers tighten around the steering wheel and I slowly exhale.

Go home, Kaley. Home. You just caught a break. Don’t fuck it up now.

Groaning, I turn right and head for home. When I enter the house it’s quiet—a good sign that I did the right thing not going to Bobby’s first—and I cross to the kitchen and dump my stuff on the center island.

Jeez, it doesn’t even sound like anyone is home.

I quickly start checking rooms.

Family room empty.

I open the French doors, step out onto the patio, and hear a raspy, accented voice. Oh crud. Alan is sitting at a table looking hyperindustrious—weird, totally weird—laptop open, definitely not happy, and his expression stiff like he’s in some sort of intense phone conversation.

Slowly, I step back and turn, trying to get into the house before he sees me.

“Kaley, please sit. I’ll be done with this in a second. I’d like to talk to you,” Alan announces, abrupt, and I turn to find him staring at me, cellphone away from his ear.

Fuck, are the planets out of whack or something?

Why does everyone want to talk to me today?

I close the sliding door and drop down onto a chair across the table from Alan. My leg starts to jiggle as I listen to him continue to jabber into the phone.

Waiting, Alan, waiting. So rude. Fuck. I’m going to miss Bobby if this keeps up.

“I’m sorry that took so long,” Alan says and I look up to see the cell sitting on the table. “I’m leaving for New York later tonight and there’s a lot going on right now.”

OK, status report done—as if I give a shit.

I smile. “It’s OK.”

His eyes lock on the computer and he starts clicking. “Come sit over here, Kaley. I want to show you something.”

I move to his side of the table and sit in the chair beside him. He moves the laptop in front of me.

“Your photographs are lovely. Your mom thinks so and so do I, but we would prefer if you stopped posting them online.”

For a second my heart stills until the screen comes into focus for my eyes. Then I frown. This is what all the fuss is about? It’s a picture of Mom and Alan with the boys. It’s a sweet picture. Our weird family normal.

I study it, feeling my emotion kick up. It’s undeniable. Definitely unexpected. Alan is a surprisingly good parental figure, and as involved a stepfather for my brothers and sisters as Jesse was for me. Nope, I didn’t expect that. It hasn’t been totally awful this repeat of living with Alan. Krystal and the twins seem happier.

So what’s wrong with this picture?

Maybe he thinks it ruins his image.

Stupid, Alan.

It makes you likeable.

Maybe that’s what’s bugging him.

I look at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’ve done to piss you guys off, but it’s really none of your business what I post on my social media pages. I can’t believe you spied on me.”

Alan’s black eyes sharpen. “It’s our business because what you post affects all of us. You’ve got the house in that photograph, sweetheart. The street number. I would prefer you didn’t do that until I can convince your mother to live somewhere less accessible. My security sent it to me when it popped online.”

My face colors.

His security spies on me?

Un-fucking-believable.

“It doesn’t matter what I post,” I counter hotly. “Anyone who wants to can already find out where we live and that’s Mom’s fault and not mine or didn’t your nifty security team discover that one yet? She filled out my school packet at the beginning of the year and checked the box to make it public on our loop. It’s been up since August.”

“Oh fu—” He stops himself quickly, then rakes a hand through his hair. He makes a charming, slightly inane, apologetic expression. “Sorry, I shouldn’t swear around you kids.”

I shake my head. He tries. He really tries. I’ll give him that even though I don’t want to. I keep my expression carefully neutral. “Is that all? Can I go?”

Those black eyes lock on me.

“No, the other concern is Khloe. You’ve been posting a lot of pictures of her and that stops now. Both Chrissie and I would prefer you not do that either.”

My stomach does a painful shimmy. “You mean all this is about Khloe? Your big concern all of a sudden with my photographs and social media is paranoid overreaction over your daughter. We live in the ’Sades not Mexico City. Get a grip.”

Alan visibly flinches.

OK, that was mean, harsh and totally illogical since Alan is probably right about everything but, fuck, hello, no one ever gives a shit about me and you aren’t today.

“It’s about all of us,” Alan says succinctly.

Right.

“Fine. No posting. At least until after I move out next month. After that I’m doing what I want.”

Alan stares at me, alarmed. “Moving out? What are you talking about?”

His reaction surprises me.

It almost sounds like he doesn’t want me to.

I shrug. “I’m done with high school at the end of May and I’m getting the hell out of here. Bobby and I are going to get a place together.”

Inwardly I cringe, feeling the bite even though it was only a little lie, since Bobby and I haven’t really talked about that, but I’m pretty sure it’s what he wants us to do.

I change directions. “Are we done? Is this why Mom wanted me to come straight home? For this? Or do I still have to check in with Mom?”

He studies me for a long moment. “We’re done. And you don’t have to check in with Chrissie, but you should.”

I stand up. “Tell Mom I went to Zoe’s.”

Alan lifts a brow. “Why don’t you not go to Zoe’s tonight? Eventually your mom is going to figure out what going to Zoe’s means, Kaley. It’s going to hurt her when she does, the lying to her and realizing she missed it. Maybe you should stay in and finally talk to Chrissie honestly. There seems to be quite a bit going on in your life she knows nothing about.”