“No, we’re not,” I interrupt, my voice higher than normal. “We were just . . .” I trail off, my cheeks warming with my mortification.

Ethan offers me a sympathetic look, seeming about as uneasy as I am.

“Whether we are or aren’t having sex is beside the point.” Lyric shoots me a dirty look from over her shoulder. “The point is that we’re legally adults, and if we were having sex, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

I press her with a stressing look. You’re making this worse, I mouth.

She carries my gaze with determination, but then sighs. “Fine, I’ll let us get our lecture. I was just trying to prove a point.”

Lila and Ethan sit with their mouths hanging open, at a loss for words. The room goes so silent everyone can probably hear the thunderous beat of my heart.

After a minute passes, I sink down on the opposite side of the sofa from Lyric. When the front door swings open, though, I spring up from the sofa and decide to sit on the chair across the room, way, way far away from Lyric.

“So, what’d they do now?” Mr. Scott asks, rubbing his hands together as he enters the room.

Beside him, Mrs. Scott doesn’t look as relaxed. I almost wonder if she already knows what’s going on.

“I . . .” Lila starts, but stops herself. “Well, I guess there’s no easy way to put it other than I caught them, um, messing around in the bedroom.”

Mr. Scott’s expression instantly plummets. “You caught them doing what?”

I slouch lower in the chair with my head ducked and fix my attention on the floor.

“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” Lyric intervenes. “It’s not like we were having sex or anything.”

“Not that big of a deal.” Mr. Scott seems irritated, which kind of surprises me.

Out of the two of them, he has always been more laid back than Lyric’s mother.

“Oh, don’t seem so shocked,” Mrs. Scott says, sounding calmer than all of them. “She’s eighteen, and her best friend’s a guy she spends every waking hour with. Sounds a little bit familiar, doesn’t it?”

“You were nineteen,” Mr. Scott argues. “And that was different. We were both more mature than her.”

“Hey,” Lyric argues, offended, “I’m mature.”

“Yeah, okay. We were so mature,” Mrs. Scott talks over Lyric, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “We never did anything reckless at all.”

“Well, okay, I get your point, but still . . . You and I aren’t like our parents,” Mr. Scott replies defensively. “We have rules. We need to put those rules into play and ground her or something.”

I still haven’t looked up, my eyes trained on the floor as I wait for one of them to say something negative about Lyric being with me. But they continue on about their pasts as if they’ve forgotten about the problem and the other people in the room, listening to their every word.

Finally, they must remember that other people are around, because Mrs. Scott hisses, “Maybe we should talk to Lyric about this at home.”

“Sounds good to me,” Mr. Scott agrees, clearly annoyed.

I don’t look up even though I feel Lyric’s eyes on me.

“They’re gone. You can look up now,” Ethan says after the front door clicks shut.

I elevate my gaze to find that Ethan and Lila are watching me with concern. Their change in demeanor throws me for an unexpected turn.

I wait for them to say something, punish me, tell me how badly I messed up. Instead, they remain silent for a mind racing amount of time before they exchange a look, and then Ethan gets to his feet.

“You want to go out to the garage and help me change the oil in the truck?” Ethan asks me, although it’s not really a question.

Nodding, I stand up and follow him through the house and out the back door. It’s past seven o’clock at night, and usually, the family is sitting around the table, eating dinner. I’m guessing tonight we might be breaking the routine, though.

Ethan doesn’t say much as we start working on the oil. I hand him tools whenever he asks for them and help him when he needs it. So much time ticks by that I don’t think he’s going to bring up what happened. When he finishes, he cleans the oil off his hands, and then an uneasy look crosses his face.

My lecture and punishment are coming, and I tell myself I can handle it, that I’ve been through way worse.

“So, you and Lyric, huh?” He tosses the rag aside on the shelf and shuts the hood of the truck. “Can’t say I’m that surprised.”

“I’m sorry I messed up,” I tell him because I don’t know what else to say. The fact that he doesn’t think it’s surprising is baffling to me.

He reclines against the front of the truck with his arms folded. “You didn’t really mess up. I was young once, too. I get it.”

I rest against the shelf behind me. “I’m not sure Mr. Scott would agree with you. He seemed pissed. I’m afraid he’s not going to let me spend any more time with her.”

He waves me off. “He’ll get over it. He just needs some time to cool off.”

“If it helps, I promise nothing like that will happen again.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” He heads for the door. “Just make sure that you’re careful with stuff, okay?”

Is this some sort of subtle safe sex talk? Why isn’t everyone freaking out more?