Your parents are already out by the time you get downstairs for breakfast, but they've left you a note: Have fun with your friends today! See you for supper.
So you really are on your own today.
First on your list of things to do: that visit to the Winfields.
You drive over to the rich side of Kingsport toward the address that Ms. Martin gave you for Justine's parents, through street after street of huge ocean-view houses, perfectly trimmed green lawns, and three-car garages. If a battered ancient car like yours has ever been in this neighborhood, it was probably driven by a maid who worked at one of these houses.
The Winfields' gleaming white house is just barely too small to be called a mansion. It probably has at least five bedrooms (even though you know that Justine is an only child), and it sprawls out across multiple wings with layers of tall windows that you can look through to the beach beyond.
When the maid lets you in (you were right; there is a maid), you can see that the foyer and living room are just as polished and opulent as the outside of the house. You're pretty sure that the vase on the hall table is an antique—as is the table itself, probably—and you suspect that any one of the paintings on the living room wall would be worth more than your car. Everything is spotlessly clean, and not so much as a single knickknack is the slightest bit out of place.
No wonder Justine is so rowdy. Growing up in a house like this would make any kid want to run around and throw things.
The Winfields look exactly as you remembered: casual clothes and plain haircuts that somehow manage to look ridiculously expensive. Mrs. Winfield flicks her hair back with one elegantly manicured hand as she rises to greet you. "Ah, Pika Shimon Capela. Please have a seat."
Okay. First impressions are important; how are you going to open?