"What are you talking about?" I asked, putting my hands on my hips in what I realized too late was the stance they usually took with me.

"Did you get that shirt at Marmara?" asked Princess One, distracted from the pleasure of bearing bad news by the pleasure of talking fashion.

"What?" I asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Marmara? It's only, like, the coolest store at the Miracle Mile." The Miracle Mile is a posh outdoor shopping mall a few minutes from our house. To the Princesses, it is a

holy site akin to the Temple Mount in Jerusalem.

"Yeah," said Princess Two, "their stuff is soo nice. There's this girl in our class and--"

"OUCH!" Princess One jerked her head away and whipped around to glare at Princess Two.

"You're hurting me."

"Well, sorry," Princess Two snarled. "But it's all knotted."

Princess One grabbed the brush from Princess Two. "It's not knotted. You're just a spaz. And it's

going to be straightened next Saturday anyway," she said. "We just got these," she informed me, gesturing

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at their dresses. "For Jason Goldberg's bar mitzvah."

"We're going on the QM Two next week," said Princess Two.

"The QM Two?" I asked. "I thought you just said you were going to a bar mitzvah."

"Hello! The Queen Mary Two. It's, like, a huge ocean liner.

"I know what it is. But I thought you were going--"

"It sails to Europe," Princess One explained. "You're sailing to Europe?"

"Duh. You can't sail to Europe and back in one night," said Princess Two. This from a girl who,

just two weeks ago, lost points on a geography quiz for not knowing England is an island.

"Yeah, duh," Princess One echoed. "We're just going on the boat. For Jason Goldberg's bar

mitzvah."

"It's on the QM Two?"

But they were tired of wowing me with their triumph on the bar mitzvah circuit.

"Mom said you didn't clean up your room and it's a federal disaster site," said Princess Two.

Despite being uttered by her daughter, the words were obviously Mara's.

"Gee, maybe that's because I lack something called furniture," I suggested.

They shrugged and turned away in unison, two slightly unsteady runway models. "Whatev," said

Princess One.

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"Yeah, whatev," said Princess Two.

I grabbed an Oreo from the kitchen and went downstairs to my room. Looking around I had to

admit it would not be winning the Good Housekeeping seal of approval anytime soon. But what

was I supposed to do about that? I had no drawers. I had no closet. Surely even vile Mara could see I was doing my best to keep some semblance of order in the chaos that was my unfurnished

life.

I lay on my air mattress wondering when my dad would be home and if the first thing I was

going to hear from him was a clean-up-your-room lecture. If I hadn't been leaving for the game

in less than an hour, I might have put together a counterargument, but given that getting

grounded would put a huge crimp in my plans, I decided I'd better just suck up his lecture and

agree to spend the next day doing something about the mess.

I thought about the post-game party, wondering if Connor and I would drive together or if he'd

come later, like he had to Piazzolla's. I imagined him getting to the party after I was already

there, how he'd find me in the crowd, come up and put his arms around me. Hey, Red, he'd say.

Hey, Connor, I'd say. And then while everybody stood there, pretending not to watch, he'd give

me one of his amazing kisses and I'd--

There was a knock at my door. "Lucy?" It was Mara.

This was an unexpected development. "Yeah?" I sat

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up quickly, hiding the Oreo I'd been nibbling under a pillow. Mara doesn't like it when we have

snacks outside of the kitchen.

She opened the door and called down. "May I speak to you for a moment?"

"Yeah, sure. Of course."

A minute later she appeared at the foot of the stairs, totally glam in stilettos and a tight black

dress with a slit up one side.

"I came down here earlier today, and I was extremely surprised to see what a mess this room is."

Her lips were pursed tightly together, and she had her hands folded in front of her, like

everything in the room was so filthy she was afraid to touch it.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I keep thinking I'll straighten everything up once I have, you

know, drawers and stuff to put my clothes in."

She nodded her head while I spoke but kept her eyebrows raised, as if commenting on the

ludicrousness of my alibi.

"Quite honestly, Lucy, I don't see how not having a few pieces of furniture is an excuse for what

a mess this room has become," she said after I'd finished.

"Well, I mean I'm not excusing it," I said. "But it would definitely be easier to put my clothes away if I had something to put them away w." I slid my hand out from under the pillow, leaving

the Oreo behind. Like a bird of prey, Mara followed the movement with her eyes.

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She sucked on her lower lip for a second before answering. "So it's my fault that your room is a

mess," she said finally.

"No, I'm not saying it's your fault,'" I said, though I didn't exactly see whose fault it was if not hers. I mean, had the woman never heard of Ikea? "I'm just saying that normally, you know,

when I have a closet and a dresser and stuff, I'm a lot neater than this."

"Well, the fact is right now you don't have those things, and this is an unacceptable way to keep your room. I'd like to know what you're going to do about it. Or were you just planning to wait

until I can make time in my busy schedule to run around and shop for furniture for you?"

I love the idea that Mara has a busy schedule. It's like getting to her weekly mani/pedi and hair

coloring appointment makes her the CEO of a multinational corporation.

"But, Mara, you didn't want me to bring my stuff from San Francisco, and you keep saying you

want to be the one to furnish the house, so I don't see how I can go out and buy myself furniture."

Not to mention my lack of a car and several hundred dollars of disposable income.

"I'm not sure I like your using that tone of voice, Lucy," said Mara, raking a step toward the bed and pointing at me. In spite of myself, I leaned away from her advance.

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"I'm not taking a tone," I said. "I'm just stating a fact."

"Hello?" It was my dad calling from upstairs. "I'm home! Where is everybody?"

"I'm down here, Doug," Mara called. I'd been about to say, I'm in my room, Dad, but instead I just sat there.

He came bounding down the stairs, giving a low whistle when he saw Mara's dress. "Hi, honey,"

he said. Wearing jeans and a worn gray sweater, he looked relaxed and happy, like he was really

glad to be home. He kissed Mara hello and then came over and kissed me.

"How was your week?" he asked. Mara's joining in our phone conversations had finally gotten

too annoying to bear, so after Monday I'd just avoided talking to him when he'd called.

"We seem to have a little bit of a problem," said Mara, before I could answer him.