When my father got there the next morning, he didn’t stay long. He was being very powerful and businesslike. He was dressed up, and he looked like he was ready to give some orders and sort things out. He looked like everyone around us was stupid and he was going to roll up his sleeves and do some real clarity work.

He stood there staring at me for a few seconds, and I was like, “What? What?”

He seemed surprised, and then blinked. He said, “Oh. Shit. Yeah, I forgot. No m-chat. Just talking.”

I was like, “Do you have to remind me? What’s doing? How’s Smell Factor?”

“Your brother has a name.”

“How’s Mom?”

“She’s like, whoa, she’s like so stressed out. This is . . . Dude,” he said. “Dude, this is some way bad shit.”

I could completely feel Violet watching us. She was listening. I didn’t want to have her judging us, and thinking we were too boring or stupid or something.

My father asked me to tell him what happened. I told him, leaving out some parts, like trying to break in to the minibar. He just kept shaking his head and going, “Yeah,” “Yeah,” “Yeah,” “Oh, yeah,” “Yeah,” “Shit,” “Yeah.”

Finally, he stood up. I could tell he was pissed. He held up his hands. He said, “They want to subpoena your memories. This is this thing which is . . . Okay, this is bullshit.”

After a minute, he said to someone who wasn’t there, “Okay. Okay.” He turned to me and said, “I’m going down to the police.”

“Dad?” I said. “When am I going home?”

Dad put his hand over his ear. “Okay,” he said. His mouth twitched. He nodded to someone.

He hit me on the knee and left.

I was staring at the wall and the stupid boat picture.

I heard Quendy say to Violet, “When are your parents coming?”

She said in a flat voice, “They’re busy.”

“Busy?”

“Yeah. With jobs. I guess they can’t come at all.”