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“Oh my God.” I wipe my face with my hands, trying to erase the burning that will surely have it reddening. Then his words hit me. I peel my hands from my face. “Wait, Risha? You’ve been talking to Risha? Since when?” And often enough to share details of each other’s lives, long enough for my dad to tell her about his moody, irritable daughter.

Now my dad is the one going red. Seems he didn’t mean to let that slip. “Sometimes.”

“I knew you’d two make a good pair.” I slap his arm. “See, you were all, I’m the adult, you’re the child. Stay in your lane, you annoying little brat.”

“I never said that.”

“Close enough,” I say.

“And what do you mean?” He sits up. “You didn’t match me up with Risha, did you? She didn’t tell me she was on the app. Is she on the app?”

Right. The original meet-cute was set up in person and completely a secret to Dad. I’m not going to push my luck with putting my nose in his business, though every fiber in me wants to shout, See, I’m always right. Admit it.

“No, no,” I say, waving a hand. “I meant in general. That you’d make a good pair with someone. You know, if you actually dated.”

“We’re not dating,” Dad says, falling for my distraction. I knew the word would throw him off the rest since he’d want me out of his business as fast as possible. “And we’re talking about you, not me.”

“But you’re so much more important to me,” I say, earning an eye roll from him.

“Tell me now,” he says, checking the cheap, clear watch I got him years ago that I won at the arcade. Somehow the translucent pink thing still works. “I have half an hour before my shift.”

I rub my hands over my lap. It’s not that I mind talking to my dad about this, I guess. This is just uncharted territory. And, of course, there’s no way Dad will approve of my behavior.

“Okay, but this isn’t about me, it’s about Lexie,” I say, and my dad frowns, and I can tell he’s deciding whether or not to play along to the obvious lie. “She’s in a bit of a situation.”

“But her situation is making you moody.”

“We’re best friends,” I say. “We photosynthesize our emotions. Are you going to let me explain or judge our friendship?”

He raises his brows, then says, “You never have any problems. Always have good days, never complain. I’ve never seen you this way.”

I chew on my bottom lip. It’s not that I never have any problems, it’s that I never want my dad to have to deal with them. First, because I was worried losing my mom made him fragile—I mean, he’d try to hide it with the shower, but every night for a year straight I’d hear him sobbing in the bathroom.

And complaining about fears of the future, about workload, when he has spent his whole life dedicated to working to give me a better life…

I always try to play it perfectly for him, but it’s getting exhausting.

Come on, Violet, you bottle things up and you’ll explode.

Theo was right about that.

“Okay, Dad, I did something not great. At least I’m starting to realize it. So don’t be mad when I tell you what I did.”

He tilts his head. “You can tell me anything and I’m on your side.”

Of course, because he’s my dad, and he’ll love me happy, sad, and in the wrong.

My shoulders soften just a bit. Some of the tightness in my chest loosens, like I can finally breathe again. I tell him the story—from the very beginning to the end. Kind of. I leave out the whole risk of getting sent to the dean’s office. And, of course, I leave out the very awkward admission to have complicated feelings for Theo and play it more as betraying someone who became just a friend.

“Was Theo a bad friend?” My dad asks when I get to our major argument.

“No, Theo was the best kind of friend. Person, really. He helped me with so much, things I didn’t even know were affecting me. And the girls, well, aren’t good friends at all. Honestly, I knew that from the beginning.”

“Then why did you agree to all of this anyway?” Dad asks, tilting his head, his brows pulling together like he’s trying to piece together how his daughter has made so many bad choices at once.

“Because we all make mistakes,” I say quickly, “and the girls made a compelling argument.” As in offered up a lot of cash. “And Theo—he was a bit of an ass.” I slap a hand over my lips. “Sorry, jerk, at first. I thought he deserved it.”

My dad hums, tilting his head back and forth. Probably trying to decipher the weird new language it must sound like I created. I brace myself, half expecting that same disappointing parental tone I didn’t know he was capable of to appear.