“Oh, sure. It’s been all of a week since I’ve heard that one,” I say. “How does it go again? The one about me selling nudes online because my mother modeled in college, so I’m easy prey?”

“Whoa,” he says, brow lowering. “Hold on a minute—”

“If you think just because I told you personal stuff about me in a moment of weakness at the police station, you can just fly into my life like some kind of superhero and rescue me, and I’ll be so grateful that I’ll do anything to thank you, well—you can think again, buddy.”

He holds up both hands. “Hey, I made a dumb joke. I wasn’t thinking about what Adrian said that night at the party. My bad. But thanks for assuming I’m a dirtbag who ‘rescued’ you just for a chance to get in your pants.” His shoulders are rigid, eyes tight with insult. “I know you’ve been going through a tough time, but maybe have a little faith in me?”

“W-well,” I stammer, caught off guard and scrambling for a defense. “I have heard stuff about you.”

He snorts. “I’ll bet you have.”

“Never mind.”

“Oh no. Go on. What have you heard, pray tell?”

I can feel my cheeks warming to the same color as the basket of geraniums that hangs off the side of the ship near our table. “You and that Bunny Perera girl from Golden Academy. That you …” I can’t make myself finish: That you knocked her up. “And maybe some other girls?”

His laugh is dry and humorless as he leans back in his chair and shakes his head slowly. “Of course. Why am I even surprised? You realize you just did exactly the same thing, right? Only I was joking, and you’re not. You’re repeating gossip that you actually believe.”

“I didn’t say I believed it!”

“Don’t you, though?”

“Is it true?” I ask.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Well, then … ?”

“Well?” I repeat.

“Well, what?” he asks, a flare of anger behind his eyes. Or maybe a challenge.

“Truce,” I suggest. “I’ll ignore gossip about you if you ignore it about me. And if you promise not to tell other people what I told you about me.”

“Your Los Angeles plans?”

“And the other thing I told you in the police station.”

“What other thing?”

Oh no. I’m not saying I’M A VIRGIN out loud on a coffeehouse ship. Absolutely not.

A couple of teen boys murmur as they walk past our table, and I hear Lucky’s name. Then the taller one looks at me and elbows his buddy, who makes a puckered-up kissy face at me.

Oh no.

“Do that one more time,” Lucky challenges, standing up from the table and pointing in their direction, his face lined with anger.