“Wait a minute, baby.” “Why, what are you going to do?” He gave me a look that said I should wait a minute like he told me, called up Mom, and stepped just out of hearing. I caught something about swapping rooms and calling somebody to get permission. Then Dad hung up and asked me, “Why don’t you ask your friends to come spend winter break in Lennox with us?” “Really?” “Really. If they want to, Mom’ll call Mr. Randalls and Frances’s parents for permission.” I threw my arms around his waist. “You are the best dad ever.” “Remember that next time you ask to get your ears pierced.” He kissed the top of my head and asked, “Do you want to talk about it?” Because he knew. Of course he knew. Because there were a dozen people here who would have told him—the teachers, probably, or Dimitrios—or maybe he just knew the way dads know things sometimes. I shook my head, because I didn’t, and managed, “He’s just mean.” Dad sighed. “Could you—” I leaned back to look at him.
