The teak bowl held one of those salads-in-a-bag with nothing except lettuce and some dried-up carrot turds. In the old days, even with all her board meetings, her mom used to make salads with good stuff like fresh tomatoes and Swiss cheese and orzo, which looked like fat grains of rice but was really pasta. She’d even fix croutons from scratch, with lots of garlic, which Gigi adored, even if it made her breath stink.

“I want orzo in it,” Gigi complained.

“I didn’t have time.” Her mom went to the back door and stuck her head out. “Ryan, are the steaks done?”

“On the way.”

Her dad grilled on the patio all year-round. He didn’t like grilling too much, but her mom said meat tasted better that way, and he felt guilty because half the time he didn’t make it home for dinner. He was chief operating officer of CWF, which was a big responsibility. Her Nana Sabrina owned the window factory, but the board of directors ran it, and her dad had worked his way to the top like everybody else, except Gigi heard her mom tell Nana that he worked harder than ten people because he still felt like he had to prove himself. Nana lived in this really cool mansion on Scenic Drive in Pass Christian, down on the Gulf, which her dad said was almost far enough away.

Their finances were complicated. Some stuff like the window factory was Nana’s, but Frenchman’s Bride used to be her mom’s. Her mom wouldn’t live there, though, and it was closed up till Colin bought it. Gigi loved Colin, even when he got all sarcastic because she hadn’t read crap like War and Peace. Two years ago he’d volunteered to coach the high school boys’ soccer team, and last year they’d gone all the way to State.

Gigi dropped the salad bowl on the table. “I’m not eating steak. I told you that.”

“Gigi, I’ve had a long day. Don’t be difficult.”

“Here we go.” Her dad came through the door carrying the steaks on one of the tea leaf ironstone platters, which, even if Gigi liked tea leaf ironstone, which she didn’t, she wouldn’t have let herself get attached to because her mom would sell it right out from under them, too. Her mom was a history nut, which was why she liked the antique store so much.

Her dad winked at her as he set the platter on the brass trivet. He was thirty-three and Win-i-fred was thirty-two. Most of her friends’ parents were a lot older, but Gigi’d been born while her parents were in college. Premature, like, ha-ha, anybody would believe that.

The smell of the steak made her mouth water, so she forced herself to think about all the cow burps that were screwing up the ozone layer and causing global warming. Two weeks ago when she’d decided to become a vegetarian, she’d tried to explain it at lunch, but Chels told her to stop talking like a geek. But that weird Gwen Lu had overheard and wanted to strike up this big intellectual conversation about it. As if Gigi’s reputation could stand being seen talking to Gwen Lu.

“Wine tonight or not?” her dad asked.

“Definitely.” Her mom took some disgusting frozen french fries from the oven and dumped them in a bowl.

Her dad pulled a bottle from the wine rack.

In seventh grade, when Gigi had still been friends with Kelli and everybody, Kelli had said Gigi’s dad looked like Brad Pitt, which was a total lie. For one thing, Brad Pitt was short and old, and his eyes were squished too close together. Also, could anybody honestly imagine her dad going around with his hair messed up all the time and looking like he never shaved? It grossed her out when some of the girls said they thought her dad was hot.

Gigi mainly looked like him, her mouth and the shape of her face. But her hair was dark brown instead of blond, and she didn’t have his goldy-colored eyes. Hers were like her mom’s, light blue and sort of creepy. She wished they were goldy brown like his. No matter what Nana Sabrina said, Gigi was a lot more like her dad than her mom.

She wished he didn’t work so much. Then her mom might not have opened the store. They sure didn’t need the money. Her mom said with Gigi in school and Ryan working such long hours, there wasn’t enough for her to do, even with all her committees. In Gigi’s opinion, she could stay home and make some decent salads.

He carried the wineglasses to the table, and they all sat down. Her mom said grace, then her dad passed the steak platter. “So, Gi, how’s it goin’ at school?”

“Boring.”

Her parents exchanged a look that made Gigi wish she’d kept her big fat mouth shut. They thought one of the reasons her grades were going down was because she wasn’t getting enough intellectual stimulation from her classes, which was true, but that didn’t have anything to do with her grades. Lately she’d started to get scared they might send her away to some boarding school for the gifted like Colby Sneed’s parents had done, and Colby hadn’t been half as smart as her.

“Mainly because of the kids, though,” she said quickly. “Classes this week were very stimulating, and my teachers are excellent.”

Her mom lifted an eyebrow, and her father shook his head. One thing about her parents . . . they weren’t stupid.

He salted his french fries. “Funny that with all that stimulation, you couldn’t do better than a C on your history test.”

Gigi knew she was walking a delicate line. Being the class brain—except for that dorky Gwen Lu—and being the richest girl in town, too, had made everybody hate her, but if she let her grades drop too far, she might find herself in boarding school, and then she’d have to kill herself. “I had a stomachache. I’m sure I’ll do better next time.”

He got that worried look in his eyes she’d been seeing a lot lately. “Why don’t you come to the factory with me on Saturday morning? I won’t be there long, and you can mess around with the computers.”

She rolled her eyes. When she was a kid, she’d loved to go to work with him, but now she thought it was boring. “No, thank you. Me and Chelsea are going over to Shannon’s house.”

“Chelsea and I,” her mother said.

“Are you going to Shannon’s, too?”

“That’s enough, Gi,” her father snapped. “Stop being a smart-ass.”

She scowled, but she didn’t have the nerve to talk back to him like she did her mom because it made him crazy, and she’d only just gotten her telephone privileges back.

Her mom didn’t say much for the rest of the dinner, which was unusual, because usually when her dad showed up to eat, she tried extra hard to be entertaining, being all chirpy and offering stimulating topics of conversation and everything. Tonight, though, she didn’t even seem to be paying attention, and Gigi wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that She Who Must Not Be Named had come back to town.

It made her mad that they still hadn’t said anything. Gigi’d had to hear the news from Chelsea, who heard it from her mom. Gigi’s parents acted like she was still a child, but everybody knew that Nana Sabrina hadn’t married Mom’s dad, Griffin Carey, until Mom was a senior in high school, and he’d had this other family, and, like, who cared? Although Gigi had to admit she was very, very curious.

The phone rang, and she made a dash for it because she knew it’d be Chelsea. “Can I be excused?”

She waited for her mom to say no like she always did, but she didn’t, so Gigi grabbed the phone and raced upstairs. Everything was too weird tonight.

Winnie watched Gigi disappear and wondered what had happened to the little girl who used to love just being with her. This time last year, Gigi had rushed in from school, so eager to share the news of the day that she’d stuttered over her words.

Ryan gazed toward the door. “I wish you didn’t let her hang around with Chelsea so much. That kid looks like an ad for kiddie porn.”

Winnie balled her fist in her lap, but she kept her voice calm. “Exactly how do you expect me to stop her?”