When My Dog Broke a Window and the Internet Put Us on Trial

likes you,” I said. “That’s either very good or very bad.”

She stepped inside. Her eyes scanned everything—the boots by the door, the coats on the hook, the extra pair of sneakers that were about three sizes smaller than mine.

“Is Jackson here?” she asked.

“He’s upstairs with his homework,” I said. “And by homework I mean he’s trying to convince my television continue reading …