The house we live in is built into the side of a hill where invasive French broom and oleander plants grow wild after it rains. The treetops above the ridge shield the state of the sky, so I look to the west to see what kind of day it will be. Usually visible is Mount Tamalpais, a point so tall it pokes above the thick, opaque fog that rolls in and out like the tide.

It’s a chilly Sunday afternoon in late October; I drive past a busy garage sale and pull over to check it out. I navigate the lawn’s clutter, heading straight for the garage. The first thing I notice upon entering is an unusual doll sitting on the edge of a shelf.

Good girls can’t lie, but they can’t always tell the truth, either. We must be well behaved but not prudish. Smart, but not boastful. Attuned to others’ without being needy. Strong, but silent. It’s a club I began subscribing to after my parents’ divorce. I joined without anyone telling me I had to, embracing the unwritten code without giving it a second thought.

Here comes another one. Amelia was scrolling through her social media platforms looking for amusement when an instant message pops up on her screen. She clicked the message, saw that a famous actor was messaging her and asking her to friend him.
Amelia was by now well-versed in how this interaction would go.