Lanie “Is that you, Lanie?” Mom called as I closed the front door behind me. “Yeah!” I hung my jean jacket up and made my way through the house, following the spicy-sweet scent in the air. As expected, my mom was in the kitchen. As I entered, she pulled a baking sheet of cookies from the oven and set them on the stove top. “Those look good,” I commented, leaning against the kitchen island. “They’re for the library bake sale tomorrow. I thought we could ice them.” She turned to me, and her eyes went wide. “That’s not what you’re wearing, is it?”I looked down at my jeans, ankle boots, and sweater. “Uh, to the bake sale? Isn’t that tomorrow?”Mom pursed her lips. The oven mitt hit the counter with a grand display of annoyance. “To your father’s event.”“What?” Realization, come days too late, struck. “Crap. That’s tonight?”“Yes. I hope you’re going home and changing.”“Mom, I forgot. I have plans.”She studied me. “What kind of plans?”“Plans with Andrew.”“Lanie—”“Mom, don’t.”“Yo
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