“Seriously?” Brooke says. We are up in my room after dinner. “What were you thinking?! Why didn’t you just tell her the horses weren’t yours?”

“You must’ve missed the part where I didn’t tell her the room wasn’t mine,” I say.

“Kate?” my mother calls upstairs. “Come down and say goodbye. Grammalolo is getting ready to leave.”

“Oh, Nancy, I don’t know why you always make such a big deal of goodbyes. Snickelfritz here hardly had time for hello, she’s been so busy with her little friend,” Grammalolo says with a fresh lipstick smile, as if I wasn’t sitting right next to her all through dinner.

“And please tell your sister Princess Hyacinth I would love it if she’d honor me with an appearance one of these Saturday nights,” Grammalolo says.

“Or,” my dad says as we watch Grammalolo go down the front walk, “your mother could do the honors and miss her TV show one Sunday night and have dinner with Princess Hyacinth and the rest of us instead.”

My mother changes the subject. “Adam, Fern is ready for you to read to her. She can sleep in her own bed, and I’ll have these two sleep in Robin’s room.”

“Ooh, the scene of the crime,” Brooke whispers.

“Not funny,” I say. (Translation: Funny, but stomachache-making.)

I actually forget about the crime while we all watch America’s Funniest Home Videos.

Then Brooke and I help my mom make Brooke’s bed. “Good night,” my mom says, and gives Brooke a hug. “I’m glad you and Colin caught up on your project. You two can chat a little longer, but not too late. And I don’t need to remind you not to get into anything. This is your sister’s room.…”

As soon as my mother shuts the door, Brooke says, “You can’t leave that hole up there.” She stands on the desk and starts rearranging the horses. “Or you might as well put a big sign—”

“Kate?” My mother knocks and opens the door enough to stick her arm in. “Here’s your water bottle. Brooke, can I get you one?”

Brooke is shaking her head no, crouching on the desk. “All set, Mom, thanks.” My mom shuts the door. Brooke slides off the desk.

“This is a nightmare,” I say.

“Night mare,” Brooke neighs. And she has to say “Get it?” because I am not laughing. “Look,” Brooke says, admiring her work. “I don’t think Robin will even notice. It was pretty dusty up there.”

We got ready for bed and I had every intention of making it a late night.