ONE WEEK EARLIER

You know the news isn’t good the second you come through the door. The house that you grew up in seems tiny now. Being tall and spending a lot of time at the gym only makes it worse.

Your mother is at the stove. You smell pancakes and spot an open bag of chocolate chips. It’s definitely bad news if she’s coping with carbs. If you can smell the pancakes, so can Delta upstairs. She’s the youngest at 21, and the only one of you that still lives at home. Now that she’s no longer pursuing a serious career in gymnastics, she’s not so uptight about food. She will be down any second.

“No luck, huh?” you ask.

Your mother, Tracy Kerns, looks over her shoulder at you. Her long, chestnut hair is in a high ponytail. She wears sweatpants and a crewneck sweatshirt from UFG. It’s got the old logo because she was a student there in the early 2000s. “Morning, Flynn.” She manages a smile, but it’s not very convincing. “You smell good. You smell like my friends did in high school. Did you time travel to the Gap in 1997?”

You don’t want to discuss fragrances, and she doesn’t want to talk business. You join her at the stove and fold your arms. “What did Aunt Nadia say?”

“She says we can straighten it out, but it’ll take a year. Maybe more if your dad doesn’t play ball.”

“In the meantime?”

“In the meantime, we are 100% responsible for making the payments.”

The words hit hard, but you just stand there and take it. “He really fucked us, huh?”

Normally, your mother would not want it phrased that way. Her only reply is to take a deep breath and flip a pancake.

The last thing you want to do is think about what has brought you to this moment. It’s been a rough couple of months. It turns out that when your father has an affair, racks up a bunch of debt, and then runs off, that’s actually really bad. You never want to hear the words “marital property” again. And you are definitely never marrying. People say that you never learn, but you do.

There was already a mortgage and your sister’s medical bills. Your mother teaches at UFG, so tuition for the three of you is not a problem. But holding it all together on top of this is insanity.

“Bankruptcy, huh?” you say.

“It’s probably the only way. Should let me push the divorce through. My credit’s gonna suck, but we have to get to the other side, you know?” She’s putting on a tough face, but it’s hard to watch. You’d like to hug her, but she’s working over a hot stove.

“What about Delta?”

“What about her?”

“Her surgery.”

“That’s going to have to wait.”

“Oh my god.” You drag your hand over your face. “OK. I have an idea.”

“Does it involve robbing a bank? Because I don’t think we’re quite there yet. And I feel like those movies never have good endings,” Tracy says.

“Hey.”

Delta stands in the doorway. Her hair is a mess. She wears the oversized T-shirt that she must have slept in. At one time there were plenty of mailman jokes in the household because she’s so much shorter than you and your other sister. But she’s also the most accomplished athlete, or she was until she got hurt. She still needs at least one more surgery. She can pretty much function normally, but they have to jack around with the nerves in her right elbow. It’s going to cost an ungodly amount of money.

“No good, huh?” she says, going to the coffee pot.

“Sorry, baby,” Tracy says.

It hurts to hear your mother sound this way. She’s being a trooper about this.

“OK, guys. Listen up. Seriously.” You brace yourself. This type of thing is not your forte. “I was talking to Leni.” She’s the president of a local sorority with a storied history. Under normal circumstances, Delta would have something to say about your reputation for sleeping around, but she just stares at you. Man, everyone’s spirits are crushed. For whatever it’s worth, you haven’t been with Leni, although you would like to. “They want to move CCL back to that house on the hill, but it needs a lot of work.”

Delta makes a face. “The murder house?”

“They want you to fix it up?” Tracy looks startled. “That’s a big house, Flynn.”

You hold up a hand to stop her. “I took a look. If I take a semester off, I can do it. While I’m working on it, we can stay there. If you rent out this house and Nadia does hers, Rey and I sublet our places…”

“Hold on,” Delta interrupts. “Sublet? You have roommates.”

“And we can find some rich girl at UFG who will pay twice what I pay to live in a house with Graham,” you say.

Delta sits there with her mouth open. “That’s actually believable,” she admits after a moment, twirling her hair between her fingers. “I’d live with Graham.”

“Yeah. So, that would give us enough wiggle room to muscle through.”

“Why would Nadia be a part of this?” your mother asks.

“Because she’ll be pinched if she doesn’t get re-elected, and that’s possible. After the divorce, it’s more house than she needs. It makes sense.”

“I can’t believe we’ll both be divorced. Man. We are righteous failures,” Tracy says faintly, turning back to the stove to flip pancakes. You want to tell her not to say that, but Delta speaks first.

“Is this Graham’s plan?”

“I mean, we talked about it,” you say, scratching your chin and avoiding eye contact.

Tracy looks worriedly over her shoulder. “Flynn, you understand that you are a very accomplished handyman, and we’re just normal people. I’m a teacher. Your sisters can barely do laundry. We are not a team of contractors.”

“I know. I only need your help with one thing. That house is full of wallpaper. You guys have to scrape all that off and paint. If you do that, I can handle the rest.”

“What’s she paying you?” Delta asks suspiciously. “Is she paying you in sexual favors?”

“Delta,” your mother chides, but her heart isn’t in it. She’s thinking about your proposition, and finding her way to the inevitable conclusion: it makes financial sense. It won’t put anyone ahead, but it can prevent disaster.

Delta looks annoyed. “Mom, he fingerbanged my best friend at my birthday party. He’s good at getting their bras off, not making smart plans. This is all Graham.”

“I don’t care whose plan it is. It could work, and I’m desperate,” your mother says. “Flynn, I don’t know what to say.”

“This is how I, uh, make it right,” you tell Delta.

“What you did to Stacy?”

“Well, she enjoyed it. You’re the one who got traumatized. Next time knock.” You duck, but you’re too slow. The box of cereal glances off your head. “Gah! What is your problem? I’m white savioring over here like a champ.”

She groans. “I know! It’s so annoying. Mom, are you seriously moving us into a murder house?”

“It’s like 5000 square feet,” you remind her. “We’ll never see each other.”

“Yeah, but it’s a shithole, right?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s horrible.” You can’t lie about that.

“Yeah, but it’s free. All we have to do is scrape and paint? You can really do everything else?” your mom asks.

“It’ll be a lot of work,” you admit.