"Olivia?" I asked. Olivia was lying on the couch, using her mobile phone.

"Mm-hmm?" She answered incousiantly.

"Do you know Marcus Cruz?"

Olivia shot up, looking at me face-to-face.

"Who doesn't? He has a world tour." I wonder if she's asking for permission to attend it. Maybe not.

"How do you know?" I ask. This is my silent accusation at her. In reply, Olivia just shows me her phone. 'Google exists,' she says.

Then there is silence. It might feel normal to Olivia, who is giggling at something she saw on her mobile phone, but it is not to me. I am thinking of how to say what I am about to say.

"I saw you. Market Square," I say, finally. 

Olivia gets up again.

"What?" She asks. It's disbelief that is palpitating in her voice. I repeat what I said earlier, this time more slowly.

"I mean, I was kind of hanging out," Olivia says after a while. Her hand clutches a pillow that she is about to throw.

"Skipping school?" I'm sure my accusation is visible in my voice, leaning with a precarious edge. Olivia looks down. She's been caught.

But it's not the school I care about.

"Listen, Olivia," I say with certainty.

"There is no Marcus Cruz. He is Zachary DeMilton, and he is your father."