Dad says. This day has just become even weirder, because Dad never cares what I do. “No,” I say. “Carol just wants to take you for a drive.” “No.” It’s Sunday afternoon and I’m lying on my bed, listening to the Beach Boys. Dad knocked once and then pushed the door open before I could tell him to go away. I forget that I think Carol is nice and that she stuck up for me in front of Dad and that I love Carol’s dog, Prince. Dad is still standing in my doorway. “I don’t want to.” I don’t know why Dad’s pushing me to go out with Carol. Dad isn’t big on getting to know neighbors. When we moved here, some ladies in the block brought over pies and casseroles. Dad didn’t ask them in, and they never came back. I’ve seen him drive right by old Mr. Thompson, who lives two houses down, and not wave back when he waves his cane at Dad.
