"You just did," Claire muttered as she rinsed the plate and put it in the dishwasher. She raised her voice and yelled back, "Can't, Mom! I've got to study! All my books are over at the Glass House!"
"Well, you're not walking over there in the dark," Mom said. "Obviously."
"I told you, I've got a pin from Amelie! They're not going to bother me!" Her dad opened the door of the kitchen. "And what about just garden-variety humans? You think that little pin protects you from everything that could hurt you?"
"Dad--"
"I worry about you, Claire. You take these risks, and I don't know why. I don't know why you think it's okay." She bit her lip. There was something in his voice, a kind of weary disappointment that cut her to the core and nearly brought tears to her eyes. She loved him, but he could be so clueless. "I didn't say I'd walk, Dad," she said. "I make mistakes, sure, but I'm not stupid. " She took out her cell phone, dialed a number, and turned her back on her father. When Eve answered with a bright, chirping, "Hit me!" Claire said, "Can you come get me? At my house?"
"Claire," her father said. She turned to look at him. "Dad, I really have to study."
"I know," he said. "I'll drive you home." He said it with a funny little smile, sad and resigned. And it wasn't until she smiled that she realized what he'd really said. Home. The Glass House. "It's hard for us to let go," he said. "You know that, right?" She did. She hesitated for a second, then said into the phone, "Never mind, Eve. Sorry. Dad's bringing me." Then she hugged her father, and he hugged her back, hard, and kissed her gently on the forehead. "I love you, sweetie."
"I know. I love you, too."
"But not enough to eat more stuffed bell peppers and play Jenga with your folks."
"No more bell peppers, but I'd completely play Jenga," she said. "One game?" He hugged her even harder. "I'll get the game." Three games of Jenga later, Claire was tired, happy, and a little bit sad. She'd seen her mom laugh, and her dad look happy, and that was good, but there'd been something odd about it, too. She felt like a visitor, as if she didn't fit here anymore, the way she once had. They were her family, but seen from the outside. She had too many experiences now that didn't include them. "Claire," her dad said as he drove her home through the darkened streets of Morganville. It was quiet out, only a few cars moving about. Two of them were white police cruisers. At least three other cars they passed had heavy tinting, too heavy for humans to see through. "Your mom had a talk with me, and I'm not going to insist you keep on living at home with us. If you want to live with your friends, you can."
"Really?" She sat up straight, looking at him. "You mean it?"
"I don't see how it makes much difference. You're seventeen, and a more independent seventeen than I ever was. You've got a job and responsibilities beyond anything I can really understand. It doesn't make much sense for us to keep trying to treat you like a sheltered little girl." He hesitated, then went on. "And I sound like the worst dad in the world, don't I?"
"No," she said. "No, you don't. You sound like--like you understand." He sighed. "Your mother thinks if we just put more restrictions on you, things would get back to normal. You'd go back to being the same little girl she knew. But they won't, and you won't. I know that." He sounded a little sad about it, and she remembered how she'd felt at the house--a little out of place, as if she were a visitor in their lives. Her life was splitting off on its own. It was such a strange feeling. "But about Shane--," her father continued. "Dad!"
"I know you don't want to hear it, but I'm going to say it anyway. I'm not saying Shane is a bad guy--I'm sure he's not, at heart--but you really need to think about your future. What you want to do with your life. Don't get in too deep, too fast. You understand what I'm saying?"
"You married Mom when you were nineteen." He sighed. "I knew you'd bring that up."
"Well? It's okay for you to make decisions before twenty, but not me?"
"Short answer? Yes. And we both know that if I really wanted to, I could make Shane's life a living hell. Dads can do that."
"You wouldn't!"
"No, I won't, because I do think he really loves you, and he really wants to protect you. But what Shane may not get at that age is that he could be the worst thing in the world for you. He could completely derail you. Just--keep your head, okay? You're a smart girl. Don't let your hormones run your life." He pulled the car to a stop at the Glass House, behind Eve's big monster of a car. There were lights blazing in the windows--warmth and friendship and another life, her life; one her parents could only watch from the outside. She turned to her father and saw him watching her with that same sad, quiet expression. He moved a strand of hair back from her face. "My little girl," he said, and shook his head. "I expect you for dinner soon."
"Okay," she said, and kissed him quickly. "Bye, Daddy. I love you." He smiled, and she quickly got out of the car and ran up the cracked walk, jumped up the steps to the porch, and waved at him from the front door as she got out her keys. Even so, he waited, watching until she'd actually opened the door, stepped in, and closed it. Only then did she hear the engine rev as his car pulled out. Michael was playing in the living room. Loud. That wasn't normal at all for him, and as Claire came around the comer, she found Eve and Shane sitting on the floor, watching the show. Michael had set up an amplifier, and he was playing his electric guitar, which he rarely did at home, and damn. That was impressive stuff. She sank down next to Shane and leaned against him, and he put his arm around her. The music was like a physical wall pushing over her, and after the first few seconds of fighting it, Claire finally let herself go; she was pulled away on the roaring tide of notes as Michael played. She had no idea what the song was, but it was fast, loud, and amazing. When it was over, her ears were left ringing, but she didn't care. Along with Shane and Eve, she clapped and whooped and whistled, and Michael gravely took a bow as he shut down the amp and unplugged. Shane got up and high-fived, then low-fived him. "Nothing but net, man. How do you do that?"