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I lean against a counter. “Hi, Lourdes. Where is everyone?”

Lourdes looks up from the sink. “Doing homework in their rooms. Like you should be. Where have you been, mi niña? You have worried your mother. You have worried me. It is not good. It needs to stop. Your mother has enough to deal with without your nonsense.”

I flush.

Crap, if this is what I’m getting first thing from Lourdes, Mom is going to blow.

I give her the wide-eyed-innocent-I’ve-been-doing-nothing-wrong expression. “I just went to the beach. With friends.”

She shakes her head. “Your mother wants to speak to you. She is out back.”

I stop myself from grimacing.

Shit.

This is not going to go well.

I toss my things on the counter and head toward the patio doors. I search the yard but don’t see Chrissie. I slide open the door and step out. Splashing is coming from the pool.

I cross the lawn and go through the safety gate into the pool area. Chrissie’s swimming laps. When did this start?

I sink down on a chaise, waiting for her to notice me. The splashing stops. Mom climbs the pool steps.

“Where have you been?” she asks, grabbing a towel from the table beside me.

I shrug. “Just out. With Zoe. I thought it would be OK.”

She starts to pat dry her face. Silence. Not good.

I change direction. “When did you start working out again?”

Chrissie wraps the towel around her body. “About the time all you kids started school again.” She pats her absurdly flat stomach. “Got to get back in shape. Got to get fit.”

I roll my eyes. “You look great, Mom.”

She really does. How does a woman look like that after five kids?

“Getting closer, but not one hundred percent back yet,” she says, annoyed.

I watch my mom as she settles on a chaise across from me. She is one-eighty degrees my opposite. A petite, curvaceous, blond-haired, blue-eyed California hottie, even though she’s in her forties. They probably have her picture next to the definition of MILF in the Urban Dictionary. The only thing that would be more intimidating than having Christian Parker as a mother would be Jennifer Lopez.

Yep, that would be worse.

Chrissie’s bright blue eyes bore into me. “You know, Kaley—” Oh fuck. If it starts with you know it’s always bad. “—it’s good that you are getting out. Making friends. Starting to do things down here, but you can’t take off without letting me know where you are going. Don’t do it again, please.”

She stands up and starts gathering her things from the table.

That’s it?

What happened to the house rules?

What happened to the lectures?

Oh, I get it. She’s still pretending to be super cool mom because she feels guilty about moving me to this shit hole. Fine. That works for me. I didn’t want to get bitched out tonight anyway.

I smile. “Can I go? I’ve got homework to do.”

Chrissie lifts her brows. She smiles. “Sure.”

I rise from my chair and move across the patio toward the gate.

“I have plans Saturday,” she announces, not looking up from her cell phone as she scrolls through texts. “I’m going out which means you stay in.”

Out?

Mom doesn’t go out. Not ever.

I stop and turn back to stare at her. “Why do I have to stay in?”

“Lourdes can’t manage everything on her own.”

Well, that’s just freaking great.

Not that I had plans, but still.

Shit, my mom has a social life in Pacific Palisades before I do.

Crap, that’s pathetic.

I frown. “Where are you going?”

She makes one of her silly faces. “Out with friends. It’s allowed.”

I make a face back at her. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

She laughs. “I wasn’t going to. Did you eat? There’s leftover pasta in the refrigerator.”

Changing the subject. Yep, she definitely doesn’t want to tell me what’s up with her.

Maybe Alan is in LA.

Maybe that’s why she’s being so coy about this.

Crap, has my dad finally drifted back into our universe?

I study her and she looks away first.

“I grabbed a burger on the way home.”

She smiles, nods and continues reading whatever is on her phone.

I enter the house, retrieve my tote from the kitchen, and go to my sister’s room. Krystal may only be nine, but she knows every freaking thing that goes on here.

I enter and plop down on the bed beside her.

Krystal’s face jerks up and she stares at me above her book. “Thanks a lot for knocking.”

“It’s not like you were doing anything in here to interrupt. What’s up with Mom? She’s working out and she just told me she has plans on Saturday.”

Krystal shrugs. “She’s been working out for weeks. Where have you been?”

I glare. “Are you going to tell me who she’s going out with or not?”

“I don’t know.”

Sister stare.

Damn. I can’t tell if she knows and is keeping her mouth shut or if she really doesn’t know.

“Fine. Be that way. See if I help you with your homework ever again.”

Krystal gives me an intense, wide-eyed look. “I really don’t know.”

The homework threat and nothing from her.

She’s telling the truth.

I rise from the bed and head toward the door.

“Leave Mom alone,” Krystal says quickly. “She’s been really happy this week.”

Really happy?

That wasn’t the reaction I expected given what I did to Chrissie with Linda Rowan.

Damn.

Something is going on.

Only one thing ever makes my mother really happy.

Alan.

I leave Krystal’s bedroom and go into my own, locking the door behind me. I set down my tote, change into boy-shorts and a t-shirt, and then settle on my bed.

I pull out my books and binders, arranging them neatly in front of me. I grab my cell and check to see if Zoe texted me. Nothing. Beotch. She better not be doing something stupid with Seth. I’ve got to have a talk with that girl.

I shut off the phone.

I reach for my laptop, flip it open and start clicking away. Google search: Alan Manzone. The page fills up with links. I scroll through them. Still on tour. He’s in Eastern Europe.

I click on a few links.

Yuck.

So not the kind of thing a girl wants to see about her father. Even if the dude pretends he’s not my father. Even if my father is still young and good-looking—yep, both my parents are hotties—and they are both single again. According to this my dad’s divorce from number two is fini.

Good.

I never liked Shyla.

Such a bitch.

She was always rude to us kids whenever she visited with Alan when Jesse was still alive. Not that I blame her. If my man had a daughter he lied about with a woman he still loves and dragged me there with him for warped family time, I’d be rude, too. But still, I’m glad my dad got rid of Shyla finally.

I click on another link. Oh, definitely a TMI kind of moment. Or should I say too much visual kind of moment? Shuddering, I exit out of the page, and then go on the official Blackpoll website and check the tour schedule.

Nope.

No tour breaks until January.

Whatever Chrissie is happy about it’s not him.

Jeez, does Mom have a date? Has she decided it’s time to shop for husband number three? It’s been a year since my stepdad’s death, but that’s too weird even for my family.

I shudder again and slap shut my laptop. I’m about to hit the books when I pull my camera out of the tote.

I watch the footage from the beach. My brows pucker. This would make an interesting short film. Instead of starting my homework, I upload the video and photos of Bobby and start editing. I flip through the photos, cutting them into the video.

Two hours later I’ve got a nice little film. I watch it several times then upload it on YouTube. My gaze locks for several minutes on the photo of Bobby I used for the final frame.