“Yeah, totally. To…erm…somewhere I don’t even know yet. Feeling pretty, y’know…” I tossed my head back, but my bobble hat just hit me in the eye on the way back up. “Unpredictable.” Please let him not have seen that.

“Is your eye okay?” He’d seen.

“Of course!” I said, slightly too confidently, but spontaneous people probably didn’t really experience pain. They certainly didn’t admit there might be some fluff scratching their eyeball.

“Sweet.” He stretched out. “Sounds like a good evening. No plans are the best plans, right?”

“Exactly!” I laughed, even though I had no idea what I was even talking about anymore. Was this actually working?!

“Although…” He started fiddling with the collar of his jacket. His nervous twiddle? “I was going to ask…” WHAT WAS HAPPENING? “…if you…”

Was this it?

The big moment!

But Woody never got to finish. Fred. Fred, who is meant to be my friend and at least have some clue about Massive Significant Conversations in My Life, chose this moment to appear.

I stared at Woody, blinking as if a force field could bounce Fred back in time by fifteen seconds and he could finish his sentence.

But Fred was hurrying—right up to my face. Too close to my face?! He leaned right in. “There you are. Whoa—is your eye okay?”

“Fine,” I said, through gritted teeth (and fluffed eye).

What was Woody about to ask me? This was the first glimmer of hope in six weeks.

I just had to hope the reason Fred had run over was something super urgent that made me look even more spontaneous and exciting to seal the deal. And I could be in luck. He looked pumped.

“So, Hol.” Fred’s eyes were extra wide. “We were thinking. ANOTHER JENGA SUNDAY SHOWDOWN?!” No, Fred. No. “I’ve already done the snack run.” He held up a blue plastic bag. “They had your fave. Ready-salted Pringles.” Nooo—why had he chosen my least-exciting favorite flavor? Where were Chipsticks when I needed them? “Oh, and some caffeine-free Diet Coke.” He held it out. I murmured a thank-you, trying not to sound ungrateful—or like I was actually wishing I could fall down a manhole. “I already opened it so it’s not too fizzy for you.”

Yes, Woody—that’s right. I’m so fun and wild that I can’t even handle bubbles.

I narrowed my left eye at Fred to hint that could he take that back and imply I was off to a pop-up rave instead?

But Fred just looked scared. “Hol…why are you looking at me like that?” Could I actually crawl back under the doormat? “Did you want salt and vinegar? I thought you only had salt and vinegar on Saturdays? Ready-Salted Sunday, isn’t that what you say? And why are you holding bin bags?” I’d forgotten about those. “You are still coming, right?”