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Hearing him be like this to me makes my eyes burn with tears, even more when I see the sadness reflected in his face, like he hates it too.

“I’m not a child.”

“You certainly are.” Dad lets me go. “And this response shows me just how much. Go to your room, please.”

“But Dad—”

“Now.”

I groan and hurry up the stairs, slamming my door.

Wanting to vent, I pull out my phone to call Lexie. She sends me to voicemail, then texts me, Writing, call you later.

Is writing more important than your best friend? I text back.

Her following silence gives me my answer. A buzz of energy runs through me, so when I lay down, drop my pillow over my face, I immediately get up and take out my phone.

Call for me, Theo said to me. I’m sure he meant for more pressing issues, but I call him anyway.

He answers on the second ring. “Lopez?” he says, like he’s not sure it’s me.

“Hi,” I say.

“You sound mad,” he says.

“And you sound amused.”

“Well, if it’s not because of me, I find it adorable.”

“I’m hanging up—”

“No, sorry, wait,” he says, then my phone lights up. He’s requesting a FaceTime.

For some reason it makes nerves dance under my skin. I sit up straight, fix my hair, and brush a curly eyebrow until it stops in the right direction. Then I answer.

He’s lying in bed, his hair carelessly messy, holding up his face with his hand. The pillows behind him are earthy green, and I don’t know why I’m fixated on the detail, but I want him to pan the phone around so I can get an insider’s look at his room. To see the colors he likes, the decor he has, if he has any. What he has deemed worthy to live on his desk.

“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice gruff.

“Did I wake you?” I ask.

“No,” he says, but it’s clearly a lie, and I would smile if I didn’t have my dad and my earlier conversation replaying in my head.

I tell Theo all about it, and he nods and asks questions, and listens until I’m finished. When I am, I say, “I still don’t think I’m wrong. I mean, not fully. But how will he know what he wants if he doesn’t go for it? Try new things?”

Theo looks at me, smirking. He opens his mouth, considers, then shuts it.

“What?” I say.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, don’t be too mad at him. I get it. I wouldn’t want my daughter of all people trying to set me up. I mean, I wouldn’t want anyone to. I’d think you’d assume I was some loser.”

My fingers tighten around my phone. “Whose side are you on?”

“Yours, of course, I just think you shouldn’t be too mad at your dad. Think of how mad you’d be if he set you up with a profile. How would you feel knowing he was pretending to be you, talking to guys or girls?”

“Gross,” I say, then frustration fills me. “Whatever, you don’t get it. I don’t need a second lecture.”

“Okay, okay, listen,” he says. “You’re so right. Your dad should not only be grateful to have such a beautiful, kind, caring, thoughtful daughter, he should be thanking the gods, the universe itself.”