I shake my head and fill Ming in on the whole blackmail saga while we trek it to Evie’s building. He might not have access to our apartment, but Ming has known about Uptown Updogs since Day One. It just seemed strange not to loop him in on it. And as a good friend, he pauses only twice to catch his breath from laughing.

Corinne is waiting for us outside Evie’s address.

“You came.”

She sounds genuinely surprised—like someone experienced with being ditched. Her hair has been bundled up for the evening—good edges—and she’s wearing an outfit that looks cool but decidedly un–Corinne Troy, thanks to the sequined shirt under her cardigan and the colorful bracelets she’s wearing tonight that feel borrowed from Chantale’s closet.

“Blackmail is a great way of ensuring that.” I Smile.

A middle finger is the last bit of attention Corinne pays me before turning to Ming. “Is he coming with us?”

“Ming, Corinne. Corinne, Ming.”

Ming smiles and waves.

“This wasn’t part of the deal,” Corinne protests.

“Ming was already coming with me,” I say. “Besides, I’m not leaving my best friend behind to train you in the lost art of socializing. Ming’s not optional.”

Okay, that might be a little rude, but the ruder I am, the less likely she’ll want to do this again. I’m not doing this every weekend.

“Whatever.” She glares with crossed arms, throwing another look at Ming. “Just please don’t get in the way.”

“I reserve the right to get in the way.” He smiles back, easy and casual, because that’s more or less Ming’s only speed. “I like your outfit, by the way.”

“I . . . Thank you?” She stares like she’s not sure if it’s a real compliment or not, but with Ming, it’s always a real compliment. The guy is walking Earnestness.

The doorman lets us up, and clearly, we’re not the first teens he’s seeing tonight. Otherwise, two Black kids and an Asian kid in a building like this might have given him more pause than the quick glance up from his phone we’re granted before being nodded toward the elevator lobby.

Evie Hooper lives in the penthouse, naturally. From what I can gather, her dad didn’t invent a very famous music-recognizing app, but he does have a sizable chunk of shares in the company. I’ve been here only twice before and am always a bit in awe of how Evie’s hallway is the literal size of our entire apartment, with a stylish, polished concrete floor. An odorless smoke is rising from somewhere inside the home, which is pulsating with music the moment we walk in. Who has a smoke machine on hand?