The churning in my stomach seemed to increase. “Have you seen Haley?” I asked. Unlike Tasha, Haley hadn’t contacted me since graduation, and I hadn’t contacted her. It was as if we had mutually agreed to the silent treatment so we could avoid being awkward together.

“Not yet,” Tasha said. “It won’t be the same without you.”

The only responses I could think of were mean, so I said nothing and stared down at the deck. The sun was burning bright against the brown cover of Diving into the Wreck. I began to imagine it burning so hot it would singe a hole through the cover.

Finally, Tasha asked, “So, what have you been up to?”

Steph and the open mic and the Dyke March and that conversation with Mel on Saturday night under the streetlight. Tasha had been one of my best friends for so long, it still felt natural to spill it out to her, but I caught myself in time. I felt superstitious about it, as if any tenuous friendship I’d begun with Steph and Mel would definitely vanish if I talked about it.

“Nothing much,” I said instead, and then I fed her the same line I’d given my mom. “I’m taking an astronomy class on video.”

“You’re such a nerd,” Tasha said, but fondly.

“So are you,” I countered, and a little bit of warmth seeped into my voice.

Tasha sighed. “I miss you. I don’t want what happened with Jacob to screw up our friendship.”

My eyes grew hot, and I closed them for a moment. I had tried to convince myself I didn’t care that much, but I missed Tasha, too. As soon as I admitted that to myself, I felt something release inside me. “I don’t want that either,” I said.

“Then answer my texts next time!” Tasha said, but she sounded relieved.

I choked on a laugh. “Are you going to text me from France?”

“Yes. Absolutely. And next time you can come to France, too.”

“I don’t speak French.”

“Well, I do so I’ll translate.”

“Okay, when’s next time?”

“Let’s go over Christmas. Christmas in Paris!”

I knew that she wasn’t being serious, but I played along. “I want to stay at a five-star hotel,” I told her.

“Obviously. We’ll get room service. Champagne,” she said in her excellent French accent. “It’ll be amazing.”

“Fantastique,” I said in my bad French accent.

“Oh, hey—I meant to tell you—I saw that boy Nathan at Mad Martha’s ice cream. Remember him?”

The change of subject took me by surprise. “Nathan? Yeah, I remember.”

“He definitely remembers you,” Tasha said suggestively.

I wasn’t sure how to respond. “What do you mean?”

“I think he had it bad for you. He even seemed to be pining a little. And he definitely has gotten cuter.”