“Possibly you’re thinking of the Destiny’s Child song ‘Survivor’?”

Gilly dropped her forehead into her hand and groaned.

“It’s okay!” I leaned forward, sloshing root beer on my leg. “Lots of people mix those two up. . .I bet.”

I mean no, but.

“I’m ridiculous.”

“You’re really not. And, actually, in my house I get in, like, deep shit for saying stuff like that, so, yeah. You are not.”

There was a light knock on the door as Gilly’s father stepped in. “Doctor says he can see you in twenty. All right?”

He turned to me. “You need a ride home, um, Anne?”

“Oh sure.” I stood up and took Gilly’s mug. “I’ll just put this stuff away?”

As I walked to the kitchen, I felt Gilly’s father hovering. I moved to the sink to deposit our formerly frosty glasses.

This is it, I thought, this is where the whole thing turns and now that Gilly’s safe he’s going to say something crappy. Or something.

My brain flashed to an angry email to Lucy: “THAT GIRL TOOK OFF MY DAUGHTER’S SHIRT AND ALMOST BARFED ON HER LEG!”

“I don’t need a ride if you need to get to the hospital,” I offered, spinning around and leaning, somewhat defensively, against the ­counter. “I can walk. It’s totally fine. Or I can call my moms.”

He was holding out a pair of purple rubber Crocs. “I just thought you’d like something on your feet,” he said. “Don’t want your moms thinking I’d let a kid out there with no shoes.”

“Oh.” I took the offering. “Sorry. Defensive. That was weird.”

Gilly’s father rubbed his beard as I slipped the Crocs over my totally trashed socks.

“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for bringing her home.”

“No problem.”

“Right.” He clapped his hands and turned to leave the room. “Okay, Gilly! Let’s get you loaded up!”

Gilly’s dad had a massive black truck that Gilly could sprawl out in the back of. I sat up front once I’d managed to climb up into the seat.

“Hey! What were you doing out in the woods when you found George?” Gilly called forward once we were on the road.

“Skating,” I said, “I mean, I was skating. Then I. . .” I looked in the rearview mirror. “I had a little detour.”

“Oh.” Gilly twiddled her fingers. “Like how? Did you get lost?”

“Not exactly.”

We were quiet for a while. I looked off and out the window as we coasted up to my front door.

Maybe Gilly didn’t want to hear what I had to say about who I thought ran me off the road.

Her friends.

Like even with the apology, only coming from her BTW, she was still their friend.

“Thanks for the ride, uh, Mr., uh, Bob.” I opened the door.