"Like, how mad?"
"I don't know, Kenz. Really mad."
Kenzie nodded. She kept picking at the thread. "Is she mad at me?"
Maeve looked at her. "I don't know. Should she be?"
Kenzie's chin did the thing it did right before she cried, a little dimpling wobble, and Maeve watched her fight it down. That was new. A year ago she would have just cried and waited for someone to fix it.
"I didn't know about the account," Kenzie said.
"That's not the point."
"I know." She said it fast. "I know it's not. I just. I didn't know Grandma was, like, part of it. I thought it was just your tips. I thought it was just, like, extra."
"Extra."
"I didn't mean it like that."
"How did you mean it?"
Kenzie didn't answer. She slid down the door until she was sitting on the floor with her knees up, the shirt pulled over them like a tent, so that only her feet stuck out. Her toenails were painted red and gold, team colors, chipped.
"Dad told me last week he'd figure out the money," she said. "He said don't worry about it. And then yesterday Coach Tara read the names out loud of who still owed, in front of everybody, and I was the only one left. Me and Ava R., and then Ava R.'s mom paid during practice on her phone, so it was just me. Brooklyn said maybe they'd have to find a new flyer. She said it like a joke but it wasn't a joke. And then today Dad picked me up and I asked him and he said he had an idea. And I said what, and he said Maeve's been working all summer, she's got to have something put away. And I said, she won't give it to you. And he said, she will if I ask right. She's a good kid. Family helps family."
Maeve closed the laptop.
"So when you said I can earn more," she said.