“You might have missed the point of that story.” I laugh.

Ming shrugs. “Not at all. The origin story of all your neuroticism comes through loud and clear. But you should also know me well enough by now to know that I only ever judge a man by the content of his character and his footwear. Nothing else.”

“Your shallowness is very woke.” I laugh.

“Your character is good, is the point I’m trying to make here. You shouldn’t have to go to such lengths to hide it—”

“Ming . . .”

He dramatically flails his arms. “I know, I know. I’m rich and should promptly be eaten for thinking it’s that easy and talking about shit I’ll never know! I’m . . . I’m just saying.”

He leaves it at that, and I smile back, understanding what he means.

“Thanks.”

My phone’s alarm startles on the comforter, which means it’s time to go.

“Well, I’ve got a dog walk. C’mon. Giddyup!” I say, stretching myself out and grabbing my dog park sneakers off the rack. “Tumbler’s much cuter to photograph than my walls.”

Work doesn’t wait when it takes the form of dog bladder. Considering I might end up doing this for the rest of my life, I’d better commit to the calling. Ming still manages to stuff into his pocket one more slice of orange cake wrapped in paper towels before we head out.

“Do you think Corinne knew we’d have a Tony Stark–Steve Rogers heart-to-heart when she told me to stop by? I wouldn’t put it past her, honestly.”

Wait. What?

“Corinne told you to call me?” My head whips back way too fast to play it off as casual interest. Ming winces at my door like he’s just stepped in something unpleasant.

“I mean, sort of, yeah. How else do you think I got all the details? I texted her, asking where you were last night, and she encouraged me to check in. Y’know . . . bring you these bad boys to cry on.”

He wiggles his shoulders in perfect synchronicity with his eyebrows. Jesus, my best friend is truly a ridiculous human being.

“Don’t tell her I told you, okay?” Ming says. “Because, honestly, I like her, but there’s no denying that your girlfriend also scares the crap out of me.”

“Ex-girlfriend.”

“Was it a fight or a breakup?”

I think about it. “I . . . don’t know. But either way, I think it’s too late.”

Thirty-One

Is that your dad?” Ming asks, looking to the entrance of the dog run from our bench. Another layer to the force field between my school life and real life might be that my best friend and my dad have never crossed paths.

The sight of Dad didn’t used to come with an ominous gong, but everything’s haywire lately. For one thing, Dad has never been to the dog run. Not once.