Mom was waiting there for us, hands on her hips, in standard mom position. The rest of the family had already scattered. The kitchen was so tiny, it made our mother look like a giant. Even more imposing than usual.

"You two are up to something," Mom said. Her voice was not kind.

The sink was running behind her, stacked to the brim with dishes. A reminder of yet another indignity we'd had to endure with the new house: it didn't even have a dishwasher.

"We're hanging out," I said, shrinking under my mom's pointed interrogation.

Mom shook her head. "It's more than that. I see you two sneaking off...