My only condolence is that I don’t run into Ann or the pony as I’m walking home. I’m not sure I could deal if I encountered them.

I slow as my house comes into view. The right bay in the garage is open, and my mom’s Lexus is parked inside. This is weird. I can’t remember the last time I came home from school and she was there.

I stop and just stand there, staring at it. Somehow I know this is not a good thing, that her being home can only lead to disaster, at least as long as the wishes are still hanging around. My mom is never home, not in the middle of the day.

I shake my head and pick up a walk again. Whatever it is, it’s not like I can stand out on the sidewalk all day.

I slip my key into the doorknob, but before I can turn it, the whole thing swings away from me, my keys still jangling from the lock.

My mom is on the other side, giving me a hard look.

This is not good. After the blowout with Nicole, the last thing I want is another showdown.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me?” She doesn’t step aside, doesn’t move so that I can enter the house.

Whatever it is, she’s seriously mad.

I stare at her, blinking.

I don’t know what she’s asking. Did she find out about my boyfriend , Ken? Has she discovered Ann, my new bestie, has been staying the night every night for the last week? Or is it the garden shed filled with gumballs and a pink pony?

“Um . . . no?”

She narrows her eyes. She’s unimpressed by my lack of honesty. But it’s not like she’d believe me on, oh, anything that has happened in the last two weeks. No way.

So my lips are sealed.

“Nothing . . . in the garage?”

I swallow. It’s hard not to fidget. I’m just standing on our front porch like I’m an unwanted houseguest. But my mom is so mad she doesn’t seem to notice that she hasn’t let me inside.

I don’t know what’s in the garage. But whatever it is . . . it can’t be good.

“What’s in the garage?”

My mom rolls her eyes, slowly, and then shakes her head. She seems to have lost her patience altogether. But I’m not playing games with her. Not really.

“Don’t play dumb.”

“But I am! I mean, not dumb, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come.” She steps aside and opens the door, and I realize she’s not wearing her heels. She never takes her shoes off unless she’s going to be home for a long time.

So either she’s been stewing about something for hours or I’m in really, really big trouble, and she’s canceled whatever she has going for the evening. I’m not sure which scenario is more favorable.

I follow her to the garage, my feet feeling heavier with every step, until it’s like my limbs are filled with sand.

At this point, nothing would surprise me. Maybe there’s an elephant with a red bow in the garage. Maybe the entire cast of Twilight is sitting in some director’s chairs, ready for my one-of-a-kind interview. Maybe my brother is dressed up as a giant pickle.

My mom opens the heavy door leading into the garage and steps into the space. It’s dim for a moment as she reaches over and flips on the fluorescent overhead lights.

They blink and flicker to life, revealing my mom’s silver Lexus.

And a lime-colored dirt bike.

Holy crap, there is a fluorescent green dirt bike in the garage, sitting innocently next to my mom’s shiny car.

My mom turns to look at me, shooting me a look that must wither anyone who stiffs her on a bill.

“That’s not mine,” I say, crossing my arms, hoping it’s true, knowing it’s probably not.

I knew I’d really wanted a dirt bike for a while. I guess if I think about it, it still sounds like fun.

I just didn’t know I ever wished for one.

For about two years, I asked for a dirt bike for every birthday and every Christmas. My dad always said I could have one once I got a little older, and my mom always shot him death glares when he said it, but I figured he would sway her to the dark side sooner or later.

That’s part of what sealed the deal with Ben. I wanted a bike, he had one.

Fate. Kismet. Back in seventh grade, my fantasies with him involved me dreaming of him showing me how to ride. He’d take me out, and I’d hang on to his waist and rest my cheek against his back, and life would be perfect.

My mom reaches into the pocket of her khaki slacks and produces a key ring.

A key ring with a big black plastic-encased key and a string of beads.

Beads that perfectly spell out Kayla.

“Where did you get that?” I ask. For some reason I reach out to grab the key, which makes me seem completely guilty. She snatches them away, continuing to dangle them as if they are the key piece of DNA evidence in a murder trial.

“Your room. I forgot a file and stopped in to get it. Once I saw the bike, I checked your room. Chase has been at work all day, so I knew it wasn’t his. Do you care to explain yourself ?”

I just stare, because it’s not like there’s a way to explain away a lime-green dirt bike, especially not one with a custom key ring.

“I throw you an enormous sweet-sixteen party and this is how you repay me?”

Pft. I can’t stop the escape of breath, the one that sounds like bitter laughter.

“What’s that for?”

I look up at her. If she hadn’t thrown that stupid party, if she hadn’t insisted I make a wish, I wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. It’s her fault there’s a motorcycle in the garage. “I didn’t want that party and you know it. You know it because I told you over and over. You wanted the party so you could impress your clients.”

She narrows her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re being so ungrateful! A hundred girls would kill for a party that expensive and nice!”

“Maybe! But maybe if you paid one ounce of attention to me, you’d notice that I am not one of those girls!”

She crosses her arms. “What do you mean, if I paid attention? I work my butt off for this family!”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Don’t pretend your job is for us. I know it’s because you want to impress Dad. News flash, he doesn’t care about you or me or any of us.”

“Kayla!”

“What? You know it’s true. You’re obsessed with your stupid company. Nobody in this family even talks anymore! You don’t eat dinner with us, you don’t watch TV with us. Dad might as well have taken you with him when he went to Italy!”

My anger blazes and I look her in the eyes, but what I see wrenches straight through me.

Because I see something there that I’m not sure I’ve ever seen.

Hurt. She masks it well, but for one, tiny fraction of a second, I saw it.

And then, with sad clarity, I realize: He left my mom, too. Her husband, the man that swore to love her until death do them part, reneged on his promise, just like he did on all the others—the BB gun, the dirt bike, everything.

Maybe her company isn’t all about impressing him. Maybe it’s about forgetting him.

My mom grinds her teeth, the mask back. “I don’t have time for this conversation. I’ve got a retreat in Eastern Washington for the rest of the week. Chase in is charge.” She’s looking for her shoes and jamming her toes into the crème leather pumps. “We’ll discuss this when I get back. Until then, you’re grounded.”

“But—”

“We will finish this later.” She glares at me and the look on her face makes the words die in my throat. I can see being grounded is the least of my concerns.

“Okay,” I manage.

I’m frozen in the doorway as she backs the car out, and I’m still standing there when the garage door shuts, staring at the lime-colored bike in the second bay.

Is it wrong if I want to take it for a test spin?