Surfing with her mum was one of Harriet's favorite things in the whole world. Her mom, who'd grown up in So Cal had learned to surf because Harriet, at age 6, thought it would be fun. The family home, in Santa Monica, was four blocks from the ocean. It wasn't the best surfing, but it was convenient, and easy, and fun.

Laura's old steady VW Rabbit was in the garage at work, so she and Harriet popped off with the top down to swing by the house for bathing suits and surf boards. Traffic was no worse than the usual LA traffic from downtown to the beach and less than an hour later, the two gals were in the water.

The thing about surfing with mom, thought Harriet, is that she seems young when we're in the water. It's like I get to see my mom as a person, rather than my mom. And she's pretty cool.

Truth was, Laura was the stricter parent, when you got down to it. Remington's laissez faire attitude about details bled into his parenting, although when he did see a problem he tended to come down more dramatically than Laura. Laura was the steady parent. But, in the water, she was Laura, in the moment, frolicking with the ocean.

Laura loved surfing with Harriet as much as Harriet loved the time with her mom. Laura marveled that it was her child who really got her into surfing. Sure, she'd tried it as a kid – it was a normal thing to try living in southern California. But it never took until a six-year-old Harriet – missing four front teeth and with sparkling blue eyes – asked her mommy to take her. That very first day, they both stood up exactly once, fell directly off again, exactly once, and laughed dozens of times while they fell repeatedly, or caught waves stuck on their knees. Laura had always felt at home in the water, and her daughter shared that in common. They'd gotten Remington out on a surfboard once, but his long limbs made for a high center of gravity. Laura's husband, who was the epitome of grace, looked like a flailing teenager on a surfboard. And their son, Daniel, really was more of a basketball kind of guy.

So, surfing was a girl thing in the Holt-Steele household, and both gals liked it that way just fine. By now, they were both reasonably good, so when they arrived back home at around 6:30, both Laura and Harriet felt full of life, happily connected, and absolutely famished.

Laura asked Harriet to rinse the boards while she ran into shower and help Remington – the family chef – finish dinner. Harriet obliged, dreading a bit the conversation she'd be having with her parents after dinner. Laura, popped her head into the kitchen to let Remington know they were home. The house smelled – as always at about this time – delightful, and Laura's mouth watered in anticipation. When Remington saw her, his heart skipped a beat. When Laura came home from time at the ocean, she looked young, exuberant, and so alive. It was irresistible. He walked over to her and gave her a warm hug.

"that feels as wonderful as dinner smells," Laura murmered into his shoulders.

"You look even lovelier, my dear." The kissed, and hugged until Remington remembered dinner.

"I'll be down to help you in 15 minutes, dear." And Laura bounded up the stairs like a teenager.

At that moment, Daniel, who was a teenager, arrived home from basketball practice and strode directly to the refrigerator, which he propped open and stared at for a couple of minutes.

"Hi, son."

"Oh, hi dad."

"You know, dinner will be ready in a few minutes, so maybe you can stop using the refridge as an air conditioner."

"Sorry, dad. I'm starving."

"Here, this should tide you over." Remington tossed his son a Gala apple.

"Thanks, dad," Daniel said taking a big bite of apple. "hey dad, can I talk to you about something?" Daniel and his father often had conversations while Remington put the finishing touches on dinner. Remington tended to be his most approachable and relaxed while cooking dinner, in part because his attention was on the food, and in part because he was so happy in the kitchen. Daniel knew to be quite at critical moments, but "the guys" did much of their best talking in the last few minutes before dinner.

"Of course. What's on your mind?" Remington directed his blue eyes toward his son, trying to ascertain if there was reason for worry in his son's unusually direct request to talk. Usually conversation just flowed.

"Well, remember how you and mom have a rule that I can't date until I'm 16? There's this girl – a really nice girl – and I really like her. We've been hanging out a lot, with other friends, of course. I kind of want to ask her out." Daniel smiled, a bit bashful at this brazen admission to liking a girl. "And, I think she might be wondering why I haven't asked her out. … So, I was wondering if you and mom could bend the rules a bit, so I can … well, go on a date with her."

Remington took a break from chopping the cilantro that would garnish the Indian food he's been making, and looked at his son. He cleared his throat, a bit unsure about how to approach this topic. He, of course, had never had rules governing his connections with women. He'd started dating – if you could call it that – young, and had dated actively until he met Laura. He wasn't sure he was the best example, and had dreaded dealing with this aspect of his kid's growing up.

"Well. You know, we created that rule to protect you. Dating is … well, can be … complicated and ah, sometimes confusing. We wanted you to be ready to deal with that."

"Dad – it's already complicated and confusing. I feel these things and I feel like I can't act on them because of a rule. And I feel like I'm leading Rebecca – that's her name – well, leading her on, since I'm clearly giving her my attention, but not saying anything about how I feel. I know she's confused, too."

"Well," Remington said, finishing the cilantro with a flourish and preparing four plates – he usually prepared the plates, restaurant style, with artistic flair – no "family style" meals in this home. "Well …" he said again, stymied. "why don't I have a talk with your mum. I do hear the quandary. Perhaps we can come up with a compromise. And in the meantime – what about just telling the girl how you feel, and that your folks are a bit strict about this sort of thing?" I imagine that will win him some sympathy from the young lade, thought Remington.

"Thanks, da. And Dad, thanks for not laughing at me."

"Ah, my son, matters of the heart are no laughing matter." Remington smiled ruefully, though his eyes twinkled, then rumbled his sons hair, noticing that Daniel really was only a few inches shorter then him. He was sure Daniel would have no problem in the dating area – he was athletic, as attractive as Remington had been in his youth, intelligent, and emotionally so well adjusted that it was difficult to believe he was Laura and Remington's son.

---

Dinner was fairly quiet, not so much with tension, but each member of the family was thinking about the little family dramas conspiring. Daniel was on pins and needles wondering how his dad's talk with mum would go. Harriet, of course, was preoccupied wondering how her discussion with both parents would go – both of them at once was sometimes overwhelming – she would be half focused on their interactions with her while trying to read the silent conversation between the two of them. The silent conversation usually told her more about her fate than what they said directly, so it was important to "read" her parents gestures and expressions and be able to address what they were thinking but not saying. This was especially true of her mother, who tended to think about things for a while before speaking – unless she was really angry.

Remington was thinking about his son's quandary, trying to piece out what he thought about letting the boy start dating, reeling a bit that his son was so grown up, and wondering how to approach the topic with Laura, who he knew would be adamant about the rule.

Laura was trying to figure out how to punish Harriet, when she found the whole situation rather amusing. She noted the familiar feeling that she was too much of a pushover where her daughter was concerned. Laura saw a great deal of her own self in her daughter, and she wanted to encourage the very qualities that had so disturbed her own mother. It felt like a narrow line to provide parental guidance and rules while allowing her daughter's adventurous and creative spirit to emerge. If anything, she was more frustrated Remington had taught an 11-year-old how to pick a lock, and the encouragement toward deception that represented.

Her son, Daniel, was an easier child for her to parent. He had always been easy-going and good-natured. She laughed a lot with Daniel, even when he was a little boy, they'd have giggle fests and tickling contests and then he would snuggle into her. Laura had never known such easy affection in her life, and she was so grateful for the little boy's openness. Even as he grew up, he remained affectionate, giving her bear hugs after school, treating her with gallantry and respect that reminded her of his father. Of course, his affection was more limited around his friends, but he'd surprised her a few times by openly hugging her when she'd walked in to a kitchen-ful of teenage boys raiding the fridge. As a result of her son's open respect, his friends tended to be pretty open with her, and a few had even asked her advice about girls.

After dinner, Remington directed his gaze at Daniel while delicately touching his napkin to the corner of his mouth. "Son, would you cover dishes duty this evening? Your mother and I need to have a conversation with Miss Harriet."

"Ah, dad. But it's her week. Can't she do it after?"

"I'm afraid it might be quite late when we finish," Remington directed a stern gaze at Harriet. She couldn't tell if he was serious or kidding. "She'll cover one of your nights next week."

"Okay." Said Daniel grudgingly. "Can I leave the pots? I have a lot of algebra homework."

Remington sighed. "Sure. Your mom and I can cover those."

---

Harriet and her parents made their way into the living room, Remington with after dinner tea, and Laura with the kind of stainless steele water bottle everyone was carrying. Harriet was nervous, but not intimidated.

Her parents looked at one another meaningfully. Harriet saw her mother give her father a nod with her eyes. He cleared his throat. "So … sit down my dear." He said rocking back and forth on his heels. She sat down on one of the big chairs by the fireplace.

Her mother nodded to her father and they both sat down, too. "Harriet," her mom said clearly, looking into her eyes. "We're concerned about the deception in your actions today – sneaking around picking locks, and then trying to hide your teacher's note from us. Honesty is very important in our family," her mother paused looking into her father's eyes, "so we need to have a serious talk about why you felt you couldn't come to us about this directly. And … why you were picking locks in the first place."

Harriet was floored. She'd just expected a punishment not a discussion. She wasn't sure what to say. She really didn't want to talk about it. How could she explain her choices without sounding childish and irresponsible?

"Why don't you go back to the first events and proceed accordingly, dear?" Said her father.

Harriet looked at him quizzically.

"He means, start at the beginning," said her mother.

"Welll … um." How much to say? Harriet knew her parents were able to tell the truth of a matter without fully revealing her hand. She'd wanted to learn to emulate the skill, but now that the opportunity was in front of her, she realized how hard it was. Her parents' perceptiveness and quick wit felt overwhelming.

"It all started when the kids started teasing me about you two being "big shot detectives. It really wasn't mean, exactly, more like friendly teasing, but it made me mad. So I told them that being detectives meant you could do some pretty cool things – like pick locks and adopt disguises. Well, of course some of the kids joked that their parents adopted disguises all the time – they're actors – " Harriet laughed a little, "but still, I didn't like them making fun of what you do. I know you work really hard." This is the truth, thought Harriet. Although she did choose to emphasize the part about her parents working hard by looking earnestly into each parents eyes as you spoke it and finished.

"So, how did that lead to picking your teachers lock?" prompted her mom.

"Well … I told them I was so proud of what you do that I was practicing to be a detective, too. I didn't show them my whole spy kit, but I did tell them I could pick locks – that daddy showed me how. They thought it was cool I could pick locks and asked me to show them. Dared me to, actually." Harriet threw up her hands in a gesture her father sometimes made, the gesture that said, "What could I do?"

"So, yesterday when the teacher stepped out of the classroom and left Janie Hampton in charge, a few of the kids, including Janie, said to pick the lock on the teacher's desk. It's the only lock in the classroom, and we've seen her open it to pull out candy for bribes – well, she calls them rewards – and also for cash. Janie said if I didn't do it, she'd tell the teacher I was disruptive while she was gone."

Harriet paused, looked at her parents. They were involved in her story, and didn't take their eyes off of her.

"What happened next?" Laura asked.

"Well, I had my pick set with me – "

"You have a pick set?" Laura asked Harriet, looking at Remington. He acted like he didn't see her.

"Go on, dear," he said.

"Yes – daddy gave me an old one." Laura looked at her husband, who sank into the chair a little, looking sheepish.

"Anyway, I had it with me, so I went up to the desk. The drawer was on the far side of the desk from the door, so I couldn't see the door. I went to work, and just as I got it and stood up with a big "voila" – by then I had kind of gotten into the game, and I was excited I'd been able to pick the lock – well, the teacher had quietly opened the classroom door. I was caught – red-handed so to speak."

"And then your teacher gave us a note, which you tried to sneak into the paperwork your father doesn't usually read, so you wouldn't have to tell us."

Her father looked indignant. "I've learned my lesson on that count, Laura dear. In case you don't recall, I found Harriet's paper and exposed this whole mess."

"That you did, dear – brilliant deduction."

Harriet was glad for the banter – they couldn't be too angry with her if they were teasing each other so.

"Why did you try to hide the note from your teacher?" Laura asked.

Harriet took a deep breath. "I didn't want to disappoint you. I haven't been in trouble at school before. Plus, daddy told me not to tell you I could pick locks." She realized her mistake in stating this fact – her father wouldn't appreciate the revelation, and that was likely to prompt him to inquire more deeply.

"Ah, but if that were the concern, dear, you might have thought to come directly to me to sign your paper, without involving your mother."

"You two tell each other everything."

"Well, usually, yes. But I might have been inclined not to implicate myself in your little … escapade, eh?"

His wife's eyes turned indignant, until she realized he was teasing her, and she mock punched him on the arm.

"Ah, good point, my dear wife – best to be forthright in these matters, eh?"

"I would say so, Mr. Steele."

Harriet made to get up. "Well, if we're done here" she made a big show of yawning and stretching her arms, "I'm exhausted and have some homework to finish before bed." She took two steps before her father had grabbed her arm and pulled her gently – but firmly – back to the chair.

"Not so fast, Harriet, dear. We still have the matter of your penalty to consider. Hold tight – your mother and I need to consult in the other room."

As the went into the hallway, Harriet could hear their voices, but they were speaking to low for her to hear. She heard a moment of tension in her mother's voice, but it didn't last long.

Outside, Laura was half amused and half seething. "You teach our 11-year-old daughter how to pick locks and give her a pick set, Mr. Steele? I'm going to have to reprimand you for that later," she said vehemently.

"Ah, Mrs. Steele, is that a proposition I hear in your voice? Titillating, scintillating, yes, sounds downright exciting."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

They stared each other down for a moment.

"We'll continue this conversation later." She said.

"I'm looking forward to it." He winked.

"Punishment, for our daughter, Mr. Steele?" Laura pointed to the door.

"Ideas, Mrs. Steele?"

"The truth? Perhaps, the best punishment for deception is telling the truth and apologizing – to her teacher, to Mildred?" pondered Laura.

"Ah, yes, let the punishment fit the crime. I like it. And I bet she won't." he replied.

"Well, then it's perfect, wouldn't you agree?" She turned to return to Harriet, then looked back at him. "I'm not finished with you, you know."

He just winked.

Laura and Remington went in and shared Harriet's verdict with her. It was obvious she didn't like it, but she took it in stride, and said morosely, "that's fair." She was glad she wasn't grounded – the fifth grade dance was coming up and her heart was set on going, so she took what they dished out.

As they finished, her father turned to her with a gleam in his eye. She knew he was finding a way to pay her back for exposing the fact that he'd given her a pick set.

"Harriet, what did you mean by your spy kit?"

This was the secret she didn't want to share – not because she'd be in trouble, but because it was hers. It felt private, and important, and she didn't want them laughing at her.

"Well, you know, I've always loved excitement." She looked up at them. "I want to be a detective like you two. I've been practicing. And then, when I read Harriet the Spy, it just seemed to perfect. Like I'm meant to be one. So I put together a spy kit like Harriet in the book had, and I've been honing my powers of observation."

Her mom laughed – but not the kind of laugh Harriet had feared. Her mom wasn't laughing at her. It was a laugh that conveyed her mom liked being let in on the joke.

Her father looked puzzled.

Laura and Harriet said, simultaneously. "Harriet the Spy. Lousie Fitzhugh. Harper & Row, 1964. An 11-year-old girl trains to be a spy, to the dismay of her friends."

Laura added "You might know the annotation better as "Harriet the Spy, Michelle Trachtenberg, Kim Cattrall, Nickelodeon studios, 1996."

Harriet's mom looked at her closely, almost admiringly. "You are certainly growing up quickly, my dear. And not falling far from the tree, huh?" Her mom walked over to her and pulled her up into a hug. Then did the oddest thing. She laughed. "Harriet, please tell me if I'm ever inconsiderate about your dreams or passions. My mother had a hard time respecting my profession, and I want to do better by you." Laura pulled back, looked her daughter in the eye, and said, "Deception aside, I'm proud of you."

Remington stood to the side. He didn't quite get the joke or understand how Laura – who got so angry with him for even the slightest omission of the truth – was taking this all in stride and looking at her daughter so admiringly.