I laugh. “I’m Tam.”

“Lourdes,” she says, grabbing the sleeve of my jacket since my hands are full and pulling me through the crowded street, always finding a clear path, making it just in time so we don’t have to stop at any lights. I wonder if she’s good at Pac-Man too.

On the sun-glazed steps, I find out everything about Lourdes all at once. She is also cutting school, not out of bitterness like me, but for art. “My band got asked to fill in at Gilman Street. We’re opening for Bikini Kill.” She says it very casually, like it’s something she does all the time. Then she bursts out laughing. “Dude, you have no idea. It’s such a huge big deal! Like, beyond beyond!”

“That’s so cool!” I say. I have no idea who Bikini Kill is, but I love their name.

“It’s our first gig ever,” she says, jiggling her leg so the safety pins pegging the ankles of her jeans glint in the sun. “I’m the drummer.” She holds out her fists, showing me her scraped knuckles. “Hazard of the profession, ma’am,” she says in a sort of cowboy accent, then rolls her eyes at herself. “But enough about me—tell me about you.”

To my surprise, I do—all of it.

“Assholes,” she says when I come to the part about Ben’s friends. “And was that Ben guy hitting on you in front of his girlfriend?” Wow—her and my mom both. No wonder Kelly doesn’t want me hanging around with them. “But also, dude, what’s with this Kelly? That’s no way to treat a friend. Girls should have each other’s backs.”

I start to protest, but then, all of a sudden, I know she’s right.

“Some girls go dick-crazy,” she says. “Not me, though.” There’s something almost . . . flirtatious about the way she says it? Or not. Probably not.

“I don’t know if it’s that . . .” I lower my lashes and glance sideways at Lourdes. She’s my favorite kind of pretty, tall and strong like she could easily play sports, with messy braids and red lipstick and a cut-up T-shirt that reveals one perfect bronze shoulder.

“Hey,” Lourdes says, standing up and holding out her hand. “Want to come put up the rest of these flyers with me?”

“Okay,” I say, my pulse suddenly racing. “I don’t really have anywhere to be.”

“Oh! Then you’re coming to the show?” Lourdes says. “We can get ready at my house.”

I consider it. My mom won’t be home till morning. I’ve never gone out while she’s at work before, except to Kelly’s. She might call, but probably not. On Friday night, the ER is always busy.