She points to the Crock-Pot, so I get myself some soup and sit down at the table. Denver curls up on the floor and flops his head on my foot. He hates soup nights. Nobody drops soup on the floor like they do french fries. My phone buzzes with a text, and when I look down, I see it’s a short one: Catherine: Uh-oh. Then there’s a link to an online video-sharing site. When I click it, there’s Drew, dancing across the gym with his lake monster disco moves. He’s going to flip when he sees this. I look to see if I can tell who recorded and shared it because maybe we can get the person to take it down before anybody else sees it. But then I notice it’s already gotten two hundred twenty-nine views. In less than an hour. Uh-oh is right. “Charlie, do you have a pen?” Mom calls from the counter. I get her one from my backpack, and she writes something while she talks at the person on the phone. “Okay . . . so you need the policy number and then we should be all set?” Mom pauses, listening.
